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CHALLENGE 


CHALLENGE 


r'\^^^i 


,Y\^  ^  '  BY 


VJ'^SACKVILLE-WEST 


NEW  XaJ^  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


TR6037 
A  ZSC4Z 


PRINTED    IN   THE   UNITED   STATES  OF   AMERICA 


DEDICATION 

ACABA  EMBEO   SIN  TIRO,   MEN   CHUAJANI  ; 

LIRENAS,     BERJARAS     TIRI     CCHI      BUSNE, 

CHANGERI,   TA  ARMENSALLE. 


EPILOGUE 

A  MAN  and  a  woman  leaned  idly  over  the  balustrade 

watching  the  steady  stream  of  guests  that  mounted  the 
magnificent  staircase.  The  marble  of  the  balustrade  was 
cool  beneath  the  woman's  bare  arms,  for  it  was  svunmer, 
and  the  man,  without  interrupting  his  murmiu"  of 
comment  and  anecdote,  glanced  admiringly  at  her,  and 
thought  that,  in  spite  of  her  forty  years,  she,  with 
diamonds  in  her  hair  and  the  great  ropes  of  pearls  over 
her  shoulders,  need  not  fear  comparison  with  all  the 
beauty  of  London  assembled  at  that  ball.  Her  beauty 
and  dignity  melted  pleasantly,  for  him,  into  the  wealth 
of  the  house,  the  hghts,  the  abundance  of  flowers,  and 
the  distant  orchestra.  Again  the  idea  that  this  woman, 
for  the  asking,  would  decorate  his  own  house  with  her 
presence,  and  would  ornament  his  own  distinguished 
name,  played  flatteringly  through  his  mind.  He  re- 
flected with  gratification  that  it  lay  within  his  power 
to  do  her  this  honour.  For,  a  vain  man,  he  never 
questioned  but  that  the  favour  would  He  entirely  on  his 
side. 

He  pointed  out  to  her  the  famous  general  on  the 
stairs,  escorting  his  daughter;  the  new  American  beauty; 
the  young  man  recently  succeeded  to  fabulous  estate; 
the  Indian  prince  who  had  turned  the  heads  of  half  the 
women  in  London.  Skilful,  she  paid  him  the  compU- 
ment  of  interest  and  amusement,  letting  it  be  under- 
stood that  he  was  himself  of  far  greater  interest  to  h^ 
than  the  personages  who  served  as  pegs  to  his  wit.  As 
he  paused  once,  she  revived  the  conversation : — 


2  EPILOGUE 

'There  is  a  man  I  have  never  seen  before;  that  tall, 
dark  man.  And  the  handsome  woman  with  him — she 
must  be  his  wife.' 

'Why  must  she  be  his  vdfe?'  he  asked,  amused. 

'Because  I  am  sure  she  is  the  type  of  woman  he 
would  marry,  stately  and  correct;    am  I  not  right?' 

'You  are  quite  right;  she  is  his  wife.  He  has  been 
and  still  is  a  very  successful  man;  an  Under-Secretary 
at  thirty-five,  and  in  the  Cabinet  before  he  was  forty. 
Many  people  think  that  he  will  be  the  next  Viceroy.' 

At  that  moment  the  man  on  the  stairs  looked  up, 
and  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  woman  leaning  on  the 
balustrade  above. 

'  What  a  wonderful  face  ! '  she  exclaimed,  startled,  to 
her  companion.  'Wonderful — but  he  looks  as  though 
he  had  learnt  all  the  sorrow  of  the  world. — He  looks — 
what  shall  I  say? — so  weary.' 

'Then  he  has  no  business  to,'  he  answered  with  a 
smile.  '  He  has  everything  man  can  wish  for  :  power, 
wealth,  and,  as  you  can  see,  an  admirable  wife.  As 
usual,  however,  your  perception  is  unerring  :  he's  the 
most  cynical  fellow  I  ever  came  across.  He  believes  in 
nothing — and  is  incidentally  the  only  real  philan- 
thropist I  know.  His  name  is  perfectly  familiar  to  you. 
It  is  Davenant.' 

'Oh,'  she  said,  carried  away  by  her  interest,  'is  that 
Julian  Davenant?  Of  course  every  one  has  heard  of 
him.  Stay,'  she  added,  searching  in  her  memory, 
'wasn't  there  some  extraordinary  story  about  him  as 
a  young  man?  some  crazy  adventure  he  engaged  in? 
I  don't  remember  exactly  .  .  .' 

The  man  at  her  side  began  to  laugh. 

'There  was  indeed,'  he  replied;  'do  you  remember 
an  absurd  tiny  republic  named  Herakleion,  which  has 
since  been  absorbed  by  Greece  ? ' 

'Herakleion?'  she  murmured.     'Why,  I  have  been 


EPILOGUE  3 

there  in  a  yacht,  I  beUeve;  a  little  Greek  port;  but  1 
didn't  know  it  had  ever  been  an  independent  republic  ? ' 

'Dear  me,  yes,'  he  said,  'it  was  independent  for  about 
a  hundred  years,  and  JuUan  Davenant  as  a  young  man 
was  concerned  in  some  preposterous  revolution  in  those 
parts;  all  his  money  comes,  you  know,  from  his  vine- 
growing  estates  out  there.  I  am  a  httle  vague  myself  as 
to  what  actually  happened.  He  was  very  young  at  the 
time,  not  much  more  than  a  boy.' 

'How  romantic,'  said  the  woman  absently,  as  she 
watched  Julian  Davenant  shaking  hands  with  his 
hostess. 

'Very  romantic,  but  we  all  start  by  being  romantic 
until  we  have  outgrown  it,  and  any  way,  don't  you 
think  we  are  going,  you  and  I,  rather  too  much  out  of 
our  way  this  evening  to  look  for  romance  ? '  said  the 
man,  leaning  confidentially  a  httle  nearer. 

But  these  two  people  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Btory. 


PART  I-JULIAN 


On  Sunday,  after  the  races  were  over,  the  diplomatic, 
indigenous,  and  cosmopolitan  society  of  Herakleion,  by 
virtue  of  a  custom  they  never  sought  to  dispute, 
streamed  through  the  turnstiles  of  the  race-course  to 
regain  their  carriages  and  to  drive  for  an  hour  in  the 
ilex  avenue  consecrated  to  that  purpose  outside  the 
suburbs  of  the  town.  Like  the  angels  on  Jacob's  ladder, 
the  carriages  went  up  one  side  and  down  the  other,  at 
a  slow  walk,  the  procession  invariably  headed  by  the 
barouche  of  the  French  Legation,  containing  M.  Lafarge, 
chief  of  the  mission,  his  beard  spread  fan-like  over  his 
frock-coat,  but  so  disposed  as  to  reveal  the  rosette  in 
his  button-hole,  peeping  with  a  coy  red  eye  at  the  pass- 
ing world;  Madame  Lafarge,  sitting  erect  and  bowing 
stiffly  from  her  unassailable  position  as  dictator  to  social 
Herakleion;  and,  on  the  strapontin,  Julie  Lafarge, 
repressed,  sallow-faced  daughter  of  the  emissaries  of 
France.  Streaming  after  the  barouche  came  mere 
humajiity,  some  in  victorias,  some  in  open  cabs,  all 
going  at  a  walk,  and  down  the  centre  rode  the  young 
men  of  the  place,  and  down  the  centre  Alexander 
Christopoulos,  who  dared  all  and  to  whom  all  was 
forgiven,  drove  his  hght  buggy  and  American  trotter  at 
a  ratthng  pace  and  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

The  diplomatic  carriages  were  distinguished  by  the 
presence  of  a  chasseur  on  the  box,  though  none  so 
gorgeous  as  the  huge  scarlet-coated  chasseur  of  the 
French  Legation.  It  was  commonly  said  that  the 
Danish  Minister  and  his  wife,  who  were  poor,  denied 
themselves  food  in  order  to  maintain  their  carriage  for 
the  Sunday  drive.    The  rich  Greeks,  on  the  other  hand, 

7 


8  CHALLENGE 

from  generation  to  generation,  inherited  the  family 
brake,  which  was  habitually  driven  by  the  head  of 
the  clan  on  the  box,  his  wife  beside  him,  and  his  sons 
and  unmarried  daughters  sitting  two  by  two,  on  the 
six  remaining  seats  behind.  There  had  been  a  rush 
of  scandal  when  Alexander  Christopoulos  had  appeared 
for  the  first  time  alone  in  his  buggy,  his  seat  in  the 
family  brake  conspicuously  empty.  There  remained, 
however,  his  four  sisters,  the  Virgins  of  Herakleion, 
whose  ages  ranged  from  thirty-five  to  forty,  and 
whose  batteries  were  unfailingly  directed  against  the 
latest  arrival.  The  fifth  sister  had  married  a  banker 
in  Frankfort,  and  was  not  often  m.entioned.  There  were, 
besides  the  brakes  of  the  rich  Greeks,  the  wagonettes  of 
the  English  Davenants,  who  always  had  English  coach- 
men, and  frequently  abser\ted  themselves  from  the 
Sunday  drive  to  remind  Herakleion  that,  although 
resident,  they  were  neither  diplomatic,  indigenous,  nor 
cosmopolitan,  but  unalterably  English.  They  were  too 
numerous  and  too  influential  to  be  disregarded,  but 
when  the  name  of  Davenant  was  mentioned  in  their 
absence,  a  murmur  was  certain  to  make  itself  heard, 
discreet,  unvindictive,  but  none  the  less  remorseless, 
*Ah  yes,  the  EngUsh  Levantines.' 

Sunshades  were  lowered  in  the  ilex  avenue,  for  the 
shadows  of  the  ancient  trees  fell  cool  and  heavy  across 
the  white  dust.  Through  the  ilexes,  the  sea  glimmered 
on  a  lower  level,  washing  idly  on  the  shore;  vainly  blue, 
for  Herakleion  had  no  eyes  for  the  sea.  The  sea  Wcis 
always  there,  always  blue,  just  as  Mount  Mylassa  was 
always  there,  behind  the  town,  monotonous  and 
immovable.  The  sea  was  made  for  the  transport  of 
merchandise  and  to  provide  man  with  fish.  No  one 
had  ever  discovered  a  purpose  in  Mount  Mylassa. 

When  the  French  barouche  had  reached  the  end  ol 
the  avenue,  it  turned  gravely  in  a  wide  circle  and  tooli 


JULIAN  9 

its  place  at  the  head  of  the  descending  carriages.  When 
it  had  reached  its  starting-point,  the  entrance  to  the 
avenue,  it  detached  itself  from  the  procession  and 
continued  on  its  way  towards  the  town.  The  procession 
did  not  follow  it.  Another  turn  up  and  down  the 
avenue  remained  for  the  procession,  and  the  laughter 
became  perceptibly  brighter,  the  smiles  of  greeting  more 
cordial,  with  the  removal  of  Madame  Lafarge's  influence. 
It  was  known  that  the  barouche  would  pass  the  race- 
course at  its  former  dignified  walk,  but  that,  once  out 
of  sight,  Madame  Lafarge  would  say,  'Grigora,  VassiH  !' 
to  the  chasseur,  that  the  horses  would  be  urged  into  a 
shambUng  trot  and  that  the  ladies  in  the  carriage  would 
open  their  sunshades  to  keep  off  the  glare  of  the  sun 
which  beat  down  from  heaven  and  reverberated  from 
the  pavements  and  the  white  walls  of  the  houses 
as  they  drove  through  the  streets  of  the  deserted 
town. 

Deserted,  for  that  part  of  the  population  which  was 
not  within  doors  strolled  in  the  ilex  avenue,  looking  at 
the  carriages.  A  few  lean  dogs  slept  on  door-steps 
where  the  shadow  of  the  portico  fell  sharply  dividing  the 
step  into  a  dark  and  a  stmny  half.  The  barouche  rolled 
along  the  wide  quay,  where  here  and  there  the  parapet 
was  broken  by  a  flight  of  steps  descending  to  the  water; 
passed  the  casino,  white,  with  palms  and  cacti  growing 
hideously  in  the  forecourt;  rolled  across  the  square 
platia,  where  a  group  of  men  stood  lounging  within  the 
cool  and  cavernous  passage-way  of  the  club. 

Madame  Lafarge  stopped  the  barouche. 

A  young  man  detached  himself  from  the  group  with 
a  slightly  bored  and  supercihous  expression.  He  was 
tall  beyond  the  ordinary  run  of  Frenchmen;  had  dark 
eyes  under  meeting  eyebrows  in  an  ivory  face,  and  an 
immensely  high,  flat,  white  brow,  from  which  the  black 
wavy  hair  grew  straight  back,  smoothed  to  the  polish 

C.  B 


10  CHALLENGE 

of  a  black  greyhound.  'Our  Persian  miniature/  the 
fat  American  wife  of  the  Danish  Minister,  called  him, 
estabhshing  herself  as  the  wit  of  Herakleion,  where  any 
one  with  suihcient  presumption  could  estabUsh  him  or 
herself  in  any  chosen  role.  The  young  man  had  accepted 
the  title  languidly,  but  had  taken  care  that  it  should  not 
die  forgotten. 

Madame  Lafarge  said  to  him  in  a  tone  which  con- 
veyed a  command  rather  than  proffered  a  favour,  'If 
you  like,  we  can  drive  you  to  the  Legation.' 

She  spoke  in  a  booming  voice  that  burst  surprisingly 
out  of  the  compression  of  a  generously  furnished  bust. 
The  young  man,  accepting  the  offer,  seated  himself 
beside  Julie  on  the  strapontin  opposite  his  chief,  who 
sat  silent  and  majestically  bearded.  The  immense 
chasseur  stood  stiffly  by  the  side  of  the  carriage,  his  eyes 
gazing  unblinkingly  across  the  platia,  and  the  tips  of  his 
long  drooping  whiskers  obscuring  the  braid  of  his 
scarlet  collar.  Madame  Lafarge  addressed  herself  to 
the  group  of  men, — 

'I  did  not  see  you  at  the  races?' 

Her  graciousness  did  not  conceal  the  rebuke.  She 
continued, — 

'I  shall  hope  to  welcome  you  presently  at  the  Lega- 
tion.' 

With  a  bow  worthy  of  Theodora,  whom  she  had  once 
been  told  that  she  resembled,  she  gave  the  order  to 
drive  on.  The  loaded  barouche,  with  the  splendid  red 
figure  on  the  box,  rolled  away  across  the  dazzHng  square. 
The  French  Legation  stood  back  behind  a  grille  in  the 
main  street  of  the  town,  built  of  white  stucco  Hke  the 
majority  of  the  houses.  Inside,  it  was  cool  and  dark, 
the  Venetian  bhnds  were  drawn,  and  the  Ughted  candles 
in  the  sconces  on  the  walls  reflected  pleasantly,  and  with 
a  curious  effect  of  freshening  night,  in  the  pohshed  floors. 
Gilt  chairs  were  arranged  in  circles,  and  Uttle  tables 


JULIAN  II 

stood  about,  glitteringly  laden  with  tall  tumblers  and 
bottles  of  coloured  sirops.  Madame  Lafarge  surveyed 
these  things  as  she  had  surveyed  them  every  Sunday 
evening  since  JuUe  could  remember.  The  young  man 
danced  attendance  in  his  languid  way. 

'The  chandeliers  may  be  lighted,'  her  Excellency  said 
to  the  chasseur,  who  had  followed. 

The  three  stood  watching  while  the  candles  sprang 
into  little  spears  of  light  under  the  touch  of  the  taper, 
Madame  Lafarge  contrasting  displeasedly  the  lemon 
sallowness  of  her  daughter's  complexion  with  the  warm 
magnolia-Uke  pallor  of  the  secretary's  face.  The  con- 
trast caused  her  to  speak  sharply, — 

'Julie,  you  had  better  go  now  and  take  off  your  hat.' 

When  her  submissive  daughter  had  gone,  she  said, — ■ 

'Julie  is  looking  ill.  The  summer  does  not  suit  her. 
But  what  is  to  be  done?     I  cannot  leave  Herakleion.* 

'Obviously,'  murmured  the  secretary,  'Herakleion 
would  fall  all  to  pieces.  Your  Sunday  evenings,'  he 
continued,  'the  races  .  .  .  your  picnics  .  .  .' 

'Impossible,'  she  cried  with  determination.  'One 
owes  a  duty  to  the  country  one  represents,  and  I  have 
always  said  that,  whereas  politics  are  the  affairs  of  men, 
the  woman's  social  obUgation  is  no  less  urgent.  It  is 
a  great  career,  Armand,  and  to  such  a  career  one  must 
be  prepared  to  sacrij&ce  one's  personal  convenience.' 

'And  one's  health  .  .  .  the  health  of  one's  children,' 
he  added,  looking  down  at  his  almond  nails. 

'If  need  be,'  she  repUed  with  a  sigh,  and,  fanning 
herself,  repeated,  'If  need  be.' 

The  rooms  began  to  fill.  A  little  middle-aged  Greek, 
his  wrinkled  saffron  face  curiously  emphasised  by  the 
beautiful  whiteness  of  his  hair  and  moustaches,  took 
his  stand  near  Madame  Lafarge,  who  in  speaking  to  him 
looked  down  on  the  top  of  his  head  over  the  broad 
plateau  of  her  bust. 


%2  CHALLENGE 

'These  cool  rooms  of  yours,'  he  murmured,  as  he 
kissed  her  hand.  'One  cannot  beUeve  in  the  heat  of 
the  sun  outside.' 

He  made  this  remark  every  other  Sunday. 

Lafarge  came  up  and  took  the  little  Greek  banker 
by  the  arm. 

'I  hear,'  he  said,  'that  there  is  fresh  trouble  in  the 
Islands.' 

'We  can  leave  it  to  the  Davenants,'  said  Christopoulos 
with  an  unpleasant  smile. 

'  But  that  is  exactly  what  I  have  always  urged  you  not 
to  do,'  said  the  French  Minister,  drawing  the  little 
Greek  into  a  comer.  '  You  know  the  proverbial  reputa- 
tion of  the  English  :  you  do  not  see  them  coming,  but 
they  insinuate  themselves  until  one  day  you  open  your 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  they  are  there.  You  will  be  making 
a  very  great  mistake,  my  dear  friend,  if  you  allow  the 
Davenants  to  settle  disputes  in  the  Islands.  Have  you 
forgotten  that  in  the  last  generation  a  Davenant  caused 
himself  to  be  elected  President  ? ' 

'Considering  that  they  are  virtually  kings,  I  do  not 
see  that  the  nominal  title  of  President  can  make  a  vast 
difference.' 

Lafarge  sent  his  eyes  round  the  room  and  through  the 
doorway  into  the  room  beyond;  he  saw  the  famihar, 
daily  faces,  and  returned  to  the  charge. 

*  You  are  pleased  to  be  sarcastic,  I  know.  Nevertheless 
allow  me  to  offer  you  my  advice.  It  is  not  a  question 
of  Kingship  or  Presidency.  It  is  a  question  of  a  complete 
break  on  the  part  of  the  Islands.  They  are  small,  but 
their  strategic  value  is  self-evident.  Remember  Italy 
has  her  eye  upon  them  .  .  .  The  Davenants  are 
democrats,  and  have  always  preached  hberty  to  the 
islanders.  The  Davenant  wealth  supports  them.  Can 
you  calmly  contemplate  the  existence  of  an  independent 
archipelago  a  few  miles  from  your  shore?' 


JULIAN  13 

A  dull  red  crept  under  the  banker's  yellow  skin,  giving 
him  a  suffused  appearance. 

'You  are  very  emphatic' 

"The  occasion  surely  warrants  emphasis/ 

The  rooms  were  by  now  quite  full.  Little  centres  of 
laughter  had  formed  themselves  and  were  distinguish- 
able. Alexander  Christopoulos  had  once  boasted  that 
he  could,  merely  by  looking  round  a  room  and  arguing 
from  the  juxtaposition  of  conversationahsts,  give  a 
fairly  accurate  resume  of  what  every  one  was  saying. 
He  also  claimed  to  tell  from  the  expression  of  the 
Danish  Excellency  whether  she  was  or  was  not  arriving 
primed  with  a  new  epigram.  He  was  now  at  the  side 
of  the  Danish  Excellency,  fat,  fair,  and  foolish,  but  good- 
natured,  and  having  a  fund  of  veritable  humanity  which 
was  lacking  in  most  of  her  colleagues.  The  careful 
English  of  Alexander  reached  his  father's  ears  through 
the  babel, — 

'The  Empress  Eugenie  set  the  fashion  of  wearing 
decollete  in  the  shape  the  water  in  your  bath  makes 
round  your  shoulders  .  .  .' 

Lafarge  went  on, — 

'The  Davenants  are  sly;  they  keep  apart;  they  mix 
with  us,  but  they  do  not  mingle.  They  are  like  oil  upon 
water.    Where  is  William  Davenant  now,  do  you  know  ? ' 

'He  is  just  arriving,'  said  Christopoulos. 

Lafarge  saw  him  then,  bowing  over  his  hostess's 
hand,  poUte,  but  with  absent  eyes  that  perpetually 
strayed  from  the  person  he  was  talking  to.  Behind 
him  came  a  taU,  loose-hmbed  boy,  untidy,  graceful;  he 
glanced  at  the  various  groups,  and  the  women  looked 
at  him  with  interest.  A  single  leap  might  carry  him  at 
any  moment  out  of  the  room  in  which  his  presence  seemed 
so  incongruous. 

The  tall  mirrors  on  the  walls  sent  back  the  reflection 
of  the  many  candles,  and  in  them  the  same  spectral 


14  CHALLENGE 

company  came  and  went  that  moved  and  chattered  in 
the  rooms. 

'At  least  he  is  not  on  the  Islands,'  said  Christopoulos. 

'After  all,'  said  Lafarge,  with  a  sudden  weariness, 
'perhaps  I  am  inclined  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of 
the  Islands.  It  is  dilhcult  to  keep  a  true  sense  of  propor- 
tion. Herakleion  is  a  little  place.  One  forgets  that  one 
is  not  at  the  centre  of  the  world.' 

He  could  not  have  tracked  his  lassitude  to  its  origin, 
but  as  his  eyes  rested  again  on  the  free,  generous  hmbs 
of  the  Davenant  boy,  he  felt  a  shght  revolt  against  the 
babble,  the  coloured  sirops,  and  the  artificially  hghted 
rooms  from  which  the  sun  was  so  carefully  excluded. 
The  yellow  skin  of  little  Christopoulos  gave  him  the 
appearance  of  a  plant  which  has  been  deprived  of  light. 
His  snowy  hair,  too,  soft  and  billowy,  looked  as  though 
it  had  been  deliberately  and  consistently  bleached. 

He  murmured  a  gentle  protest  to  the  Minister's 
words, — 

'Surely  not,  dear  Excellency,  surely  you  do  not 
exaggerate  the  importance  of  the  Islands.  We  could 
not,  as  you  say,  tolerate  the  existence  of  an  independent 
archipelago  a  few  miles  from  our  shores.  Do  not  allow 
my  sarcasm  to  lead  you  into  the  belief  that  I  under- 
estimate either  their  importance,  or  the  value,  the 
compHment  of  your  interest  in  the  pohtics  of  our 
country.     The  friendship  of  France  .  .  .' 

His  voice  died  away  into  suave  nothings.  The  French 
Minister  emerged  with  an  effort  from  his  mood  of 
temporary  discontent,  endeavouring  to  recapture  the 
habitual  serenity  of  his  Ufe. 

'And  you  will  remember  my  hint  about  the 
Davenants?' 

Christopoulos  looked  again  at  Wilham  Davenant,  who, 
perfectly  courteous  but  incorrigibly  absent-minded,  was 
still  listening  to  Madame  Lafarge. 


JULIAN  15 

*It  is  a  scandal,'  she  was  saying,  resuming  her  con- 
versation in  the  intervals  of  interruption  occasioned  by 
newly-arriving  guests,  'a  scandal  that  the  Museum 
should  remain  without  a  catalogue  .  .  .' 

'I  will  remember,'  said  Christopoulos.  'I  will  tell 
Alexander  to  distract  that  youth's  attention;  one 
Davenant  the  less,  you  follow  me,  to  give  us  any 
trouble.' 

'Pooh!    a  schoolboy,'  interjected  the  Minister, 

Christopoulos  pursed  his  hps  and  moved  his  snowy 
head  portentously  up  and  down. 

'  A  schoolboy,  but  nevertheless  he  probably  shares  the 
enthusiasms  of  his  age.  The  Islands  are  sufficiently 
romantic  to  appeal  to  his  imagination.  Remember,  his 
grandfather  ruled  there  for  a  year.' 

'His  grandfather?  un  farceur !'  said  Lafarge. 

Christopoulos  assented,  and  the  two  men,  smiling 
tolerantly,  continued  to  look  across  at  the  unconscious 
boy  though  their  minds  were  already  occupied  by  other 
things.  Madame  Lafarge,  catching  sight  of  them,  was 
annoyed  by  her  husband's  aloofness  from  the  social 
aspect  of  her  weekly  reception.  It  pleased  her — in  fact, 
she  exacted — that  a  certain  pohticai  atmosphere  should 
pervade  any  gathering  in  her  drawing-rooms,  but  at  the 
same  time  she  resented  a  political  interview  which 
deprived,  at  once,  her  guests  of  a  host  and  herself  of  a 
cavalier  servente.  She  accordingly  stared  at  Christo- 
poulos while  continuing  her  conversation  with  William 
Davenant,  until  the  httle  Greek  became  aware  of  her 
gaze,  and  crossed  the  room  obediently  to  the  unspoken 
summons. 

William  Davenant  moved  away  in  rehef;  he  knew 
his  duty  to  Madame  Lafarge,  but  performed  it  wearily 
and  without  pleasure.  It  was  now  over  for  a  month,  he 
thought,  deciding  that  he  would  not  be  expected  to 
attend  the  three  succeeding  Sundays.    He  paused  beside 


i6  CHALLENGE 

his  son,  who  had  been  captured  by  two  of  the  sisters 
Christopoulos  and  who,  with  two  Russian  secretaries, 
was  being  forced  to  join  in  a  round  game.  The  sisters 
gave  Httle  shrieks  and  peals  of  laughter;  it  was  their 
idea  of  merriment.  They  sat  one  on  each  side  of  Juhan 
Davenant,  on  a  small  gilt  sofa  covered  with  imitation 
tapestry.  Near  by,  hstening  to  the  game  with  a  gentle 
and  languorous  smile  upon  his  lips,  stood  the  Persian 
Minister,  who  understood  very  httle  French,  his  fine 
Oriental  figure  buttoned  into  the  traditional  frock-coat, 
and  a  black  lamb's- wool  fez  upon  his  head.  He  was  not 
very  popular  in  Herakleion;  he  did  not  know  enough 
French  to  amuse  the  women,  so,  as  at  present,  he  silently 
haunted  the  circles  of  the  younger  generation,  with 
mingled  humiUty  and  dignity. 

William  Davenant  paused  there  for  a  moment,  met 
his  son's  eyes  with  a  gleam  of  S5mipathy,  then  passed 
on  to  pay  his  monthly  duty  to  influence  and  fashion. 
The  Danish  Excellency  whispered  behind  her  fan  to 
Alexander  Christopoulos  as  he  passed,  and  the  young 
man  screwed  in  his  eyeglass  to  examine  the  retreating 
back  of  the  Englishman.  The  red-coated  chasseur  came 
round,  gravely  offering  sandwiches  on  a  tray. 

'Uneatable,'  said  Alexander  Christopoulos,  taking  one 
and  hiding  it  beneath  his  chair. 

The  courage  of  the  young  man  !    the  insolence  ! 

'Juhe  will  see  you,'  giggled  the  Danish  Excellency. 

'  And  what  if  she  does  ? '  he  retorted. 

'You  have  no  respect,  no  veneration,'  she  chided  him. 

'  For  maman  Laf arge  ?  la  bonne  bourgeoise ! '  he 
exclaimed,  but  not  very  loudly. 

'  Alexander  1 '  she  said,  but  her  tone  said,  '  I  adore 
you.' 

'One  must  be  something,'  the  young  Christopoulos 
had  once  told  himself;  'I  will  be  insolent  and  con- 
temptuous;  I  will  impose  myself  upon  Herakleion;  my 


JULIAN  17 

surroundings   shall    accept   me   with    admiration    and 
without  protest.' 

He  consequently  went  to  Oxford,  affected  to  speak 
Greek  with  difficulty,  interlarded  his  EngUsh  with 
American  slang,  instituted  a  polo  club,  and  drove  an 
American  trotter.  He  was  entirely  successful.  Unhke 
many  a  greater  man,  he  had  achieved  his  ambition.  He 
knew,  moreover,  that  Madame  Lafarge  would  give  him 
her  daughter  for  the  asking. 

'Shall  I  make  JuUe  sing?'  he  said  suddenly  to  the 
Danish  Excellency,  searching  among  the  moving  groupa 
for  the  victim  of  this  classic  joke  of  Herakleion. 

'Alexander,  you  are  too  cruel,'  she  murmured. 

He  was  flattered;  he  felt  himself  an  irresistible 
autocrat  and  breaker  of  hearts.  He  tolerated  the 
Danish  Excellency,  as  he  had  often  said  in  the  club, 
because  she  had  no  other  thought  than  of  him.  She, 
on  the  other  hand,  boasted  in  her  fat,  good-humoured 
way  to  her  intimates, — 

'  I  may  be  a  fool,  but  no  woman  is  completely  a  fool 
who  has  reahsed  the  depths  of  man's  vanity.' 

Julie  Lafarge,  who  was  always  given  to  understand 
that  one  day  she  would  marry  the  insolent  Alexander, 
was  too  efficiently  repressed  to  be  jealous  of  the  Danish 
Excellency.  Under  the  mischievous  influence  of  her 
friend.  Eve  Davenant,  she  would  occasionally  make  an 
attempt  to  attract  the  young  man;  a  pitiable,  grotesque 
attempt,  prompted  by  the  desire  to  compel  his  homage, 
to  hear  herself  called  beautiful — which  she  was  not.  So 
far  she  did  not  delude  herself  that  she  had  succeeded, 
but  she  did  delude  herself  that  it  gave  him  pleasure  to 
hear  her  sing.  She  stood  now  beside  a  little  table, 
dispensing  sirops  in  tall  tumblers,  very  sallow  in  her 
white  mushn,  with  a  locket  on  a  short  gold  chain  hanging 
between  the  bones  of  her  neck.  Her  very  thin  brown 
arms,   which   were    covered    with    small    black   hairs. 


i8  CHALLENGE 

protruded  ungracefully  from  the  short  sleeves  of  hef 
dress. 

Alexander  presented  himself  before  her;  she  had 
seen  him  coming  in  one  of  the  mirrors  on  the  walls. 
Madame  Lafarge  cherished  an  affection  for  these  mirrors, 
because  thanks  to  them  her  drawing-rooms  always 
appeared  twice  as  crowded  as  they  really  were. 

Alexander  uttered  his  request  in  a  tone  at  once 
beseeching  and  compelling;  she  thought  him  irresistible. 
Nevertheless,  she  protested  :  there  were  too  many 
people  present,  her  singing  would  interrupt  all  conversa- 
tion, her  mother  v/ould  be  annoyed.  But  those  standing 
near  by  seconded  Alexander,  and  Madame  Lafarge 
herself  bore  down  majestically  upon  her  daughter,  so 
that  all  protest  was  at  an  end. 

Juhe  stood  beside  the  open  piano  with  her  hands 
loosely  folded  in  a  rehearsed  and  approved  attitude 
while  the  room  disposed  itself  to  listen,  and  Alexander, 
who  was  to  accompany  her,  let  his  fingers  roam  negli- 
gently over  the  keyboard.  Chairs  were  turned  to  face 
the  piano,  people  drifted  in  from  the  farther  drawing- 
room,  young  men  leaned  in  the  doorways  and  against 
the  walls.  Lafarge  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest, 
freeing  his  imprisoned  beard  by  an  upward  movement 
of  his  chin,  and  smiled  encouragingly  and  benignly  at 
his  daughter.  Speech  dropped  into  whispers,  whispers 
into  silence.  Alexander  struck  a  few  preliminary  chords. 
Julie  sang;  she  sang,  quite  execrably,  romantic  German 
music,  and  out  of  the  roomful  of  people  only  three, 
herself,  her  father,  and  her  mother,  thought  that  she 
sang  well.  Despite  this  fact  she  was  loudly  applauded, 
congratulated,  and  pressed  for  more. 

Julian  Davenant,  taking  advantage  of  the  diversion 
to  escape  from  the  sisters  Christopoulos,  slipped  away 
to  one  of  the  window  recesses  where  he  could  partly 
conceal    himself   behind    the    stiff,    brocaded    curtain. 


JULIAN  ^9 

Horizomal  strings  of  sunlight  barred  the  Venetian  blind, 
and  by  peeping  between  its  joints  he  could  see  the  tops 
of  the  palms  in  the  Legation  forecourt,  the  iron  grille 
which  gave  on  to  the  main  street,  and  a  victoria  standing 
near  the  grille,  in  the  shade,  the  horse  covered  over  with 
a  flimsy,  dust-coloured  sheet,  and  the  driver  asleep 
inside  the  carriage,  a  fly-whisk  drooping  hmply  in  his 
hand.  He  could  hear  the  shrill  squeaking  of  the  tram 
as  it  came  round  the  comer,  and  the  clang  of  its  bell. 
He  knew  that  the  sea  lay  blue  beyond  the  white  town, 
and  that,  out  in  the  sea,  lay  the  Islands,  where  the  little 
grapes  were  spread,  drjdng  into  currants,  in  the  sun. 
He  returned  to  the  darkened,  candle-lit  room,  where 
Julie  Lafarge  was  singing  'Im  wunderschonen  Monat 
Mai.' 

Looking  across  the  room  to  the  door  which  opened 
on  to  the  landing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  he  saw  a  Httle 
stir  of  arrival,  which  was  suppressed  in  order  to  avoid 
any  interruption  to  the  music.  He  distinguished  the 
new-comer,  a  short,  broad,  middle-aged  woman,  out  of 
breath  after  mounting  the  stairs,  curiously  draped 
in  soft  copper-coloured  garments,  with  gold  bangles 
on  her  bare  arms,  and  a  wreath  of  gold  leaves  round 
her  dark  head.  He  knew  this  woman,  a  singer.  He 
neither  hked  nor  dishked  her,  but  had  always  thought 
of  her  as  possessing  a  strangely  classical  quality,  all 
the  stranger  because  of  her  squat,  almost  grotesque 
ugUness;  although  not  a  dwarf,  her  great  breadth  gave 
her  the  appearance  of  one;  but  at  the  same  time  she 
was  for  him  the  embodiment  of  the  wealth  of  the  country, 
a  kind  of  Demeter  of  the  Islands,  though  he  thought  of 
Demeter  as  having  corn-coloured  hair,  like  the  crops 
over  which  she  presided,  and  this  woman  had  blue- 
black  hair,  like  the  purple  of  the  grapes  that  grew  on 
the  Islands.  He  had  often  heard  her  sing,  and  hoped 
sow  that  she  was  arriving  in  her  professional  capacity. 


20  CHALLENGE 

which  seemed  probable,  both  from  her  dress,  and  from 
the  unUkeUhood  that  she,  a  singer  and  a  woman  of  the 
native  people,  would  enter  Madame  Lafarge's  house  as 
a  guest,  renowned  though  she  was,  and  feted,  in  the 
capitals  of  Europe.  He  saw  Lafarge  tiptoe  out  to  receive 
her,  saw  Madame  Lafarge  follow,  and  noted  the  faintly 
patronising  manner  of  the  Minister's  wife  in  shaking 
hands  with  the  artist. 

Applause  broke  out  as  Julie  finished  her  song.  The 
Greek  singer  was  brought  forward  into  the  room  amid 
a  general  movement  and  redistribution  of  groups. 
Alexander  Christopoulos  relinquished  his  place  at  the 
piano,  and  joined  the  Davenant  boy  by  the  window.  He 
appeared  bored  and  languid. 

'It  is  really  painful  ...  as  well  listen  to  a  macaw 
singing,'  he  said.  '  You  are  not  musical,  are  you,  Juhan? 
You  can  scarcely  imagine  what  I  endured.  Have  you 
heard  this  woman,  Kato?' 

Julian  said  that  he  had. 

'Quite  uneducated,'  Christopoulos  said  loftily.  'Any 
woman  in  the  fields  sings  as  well.  It  was  new  to  Paris, 
and  Paris  raved.  You  and  I,  my  dear  Juhan,  have  heard 
the  same  thing  a  hundred  times.    Shall  we  escape?' 

'  I  must  wait  for  my  father,'  said  Julian,  who  detested 
his  present  companion;  'he  and  I  are  going  to  dine  with 
my  uncle.' 

'So  am  I,'  Christopoulos  answered,  and,  leaning  over 
to  the  English  boy,  he  began  to  speak  in  a  confidential 
voice. 

'You  know,  my  dear  Julian,  in  this  society  of  ours 
your  father  is  not  trusted.  But,  after  all,  what  is  this 
society?  un  tas  de  rastas.  Do  you  think  I  shall  remain 
here  long?  not  I.  Je  me  fiche  des  Balcans.  And  you? 
Are  you  going  to  bury  yourself  on  those  Islands  of 
yours,  growing  grapes,  ripening  olives?  What?  That 
satisfied   the   old   generations.      "W^at  have  I  to  do 


JULIAN  21 

with  a  banking  house  in  Herakleion,  you  with  a  few 
vineyards  near  the  coast?  I  shall  marry,  and  spend 
the  rest  of  my  hfe  in  Paris.' 

'You're  ambitious  to-day,'  JuUan  said  mildly. 

'Ambitious  !  shall  I  tell  you  why?  Yesterday  was 
my  twenty-fifth  birthday.  I've  done  with  Herak- 
leion .  .  .' 

'Conquered  it,  you  mean,*  said  Juhan,  'squeezed  it 
dry.' 

The  other  glanced  at  him  suspiciously. 

'Are  you  laughing  at  me?  Confound  your  quiet 
manner,  JuUan,  I  beHeve  my  family  is  right  to  mistrust 
your  family.  Very  well,  then  :  conquered  it.  Believe 
me,  it  isn't  worth  conquering.  Don't  waste  your  youth 
on  your  vineyards,  but  come  with  me.  Let  the  Islands 
go.  They  are  always  in  trouble,  and  the  trouble  is 
getting  more  acute.  They  are  untidy  specks  on  the 
map.    Don't  you  hear  the  call  of  Paris  and  the  world  ? ' 

JuUan,  looking  at  him,  and  seeing  the  laughable 
intrigue,  was  mercifuUy  saved  from  replying,  for  at  that 
moment  Madame  Kato  began  to  sing.  She  sang  without 
accompaniment,  songs  of  the  people,  in  a  curiously 
guttural  voice  with  an  occasionally  nasal  note,  songs 
no  different  from  those  sung  in  the  streets  or,  as  Christo- 
poulos  had  said,  in  the  fields,  different  only  in  that,  to 
this  peasant  music,  half  melancholy,  half  emotional,  its 
cadence  bom  of  physical  labour,  she  brought  the  genius 
of  a  great  artist.  As  she  stood  there,  singing,  Julian 
reflected  that  her  song  emphasised  the  something 
classical,  something  massive,  something  mommiental, 
about  her,  which  overshadowed  what  might  have  been 
sUghtly  grotesque  in  her  appearance.  She  was,  indeed, 
a  Demeter  of  the  vineyards.  She  should  have  stood 
singing  in  the  sun,  not  beneath  the  pale  mockery  of  the 
candles. 

'Entirely    uneducated/    Christopoulos    said    again. 


22  CHALLENGE 

shifting  his  shoulders  as  he  leaned  against  the  waU. 
'That  is  why  Paris  liked  her :  as  a  contrast.  She  was 
clever  enough  to  know  that.  Contrasts  are  always 
artistically  effective.' 

He  went  off,  pleased,  to  repeat  his  facile  epigram  to 
the  Danish  Excellency.  Madame  Lafarge  was  looking 
round  to  see  whether  the  audience  had  approved  of  the 
innovation.  The  audience  was  waiting  to  hear  the 
expression  of  an  opinion  which  it  might  safely  follow. 
Presently  the  word,  'Uneducated,'  was  on  every  lip. 
Julian  remained  at  the  window,  chained  there  by  his 
natural  reserve  and  shyness;  he  looked  up  at  the  lighted 
chandeUers,  and  down  at  their  reflection  in  the  floors; 
he  saw  the  faces  of  people  turned  towards  him,  and  the 
back  of  their  heads  in  the  mirrors;  he  saw  Armand,  the 
French  secretary,  with  the  face  of  a  Persian  prince, 
offering  red  sirop  to  Madame  Kato.  He  wished  to  go 
and  speak  to  her,  but  his  feet  would  not  carry  him 
forward.  He  felt  himself  apart  from  the  talk  and  the 
easy  laughter. 

Presently  MUe  Lafarge,  seeing  him  there  alone,  came 
to  him  with  her  awkward  and  rather  touching  grace  as 
a  hostess. 

'You  know,  I  suppose,'  she  said  to  him,  'that  Madame 
Kato  is  a  friend  of  Eve's?  Will  you  not  come  and  speak 
to  her?' 

Released,  he  came.  The  singer  was  drinking  her  red 
sirop  by  the  piano.  The  Persian  Minister  in  the  black 
fez  was  standing  near,  smihng  gently  at  her  with  his 
usual  mournful  smile. 

'You  will  not  remember  me,  JuUan  Davenant,*  the 
boy  said  in  a  low,  shy  voice.  He  spoke  in  Greek  involun- 
tarily, feehng  that  French  would  be  an  outrage  in  the 
presence  of  this  so  splendidly  Hellenic  woman.  Armand 
had  moved  away,  and  they  stood  isolated,  caressed  by 
the  vague  smile  of  the  Persian  Minister. 


JUI>IAN  23 

^vato  set  down  h^r  glass  of  red  sirop  on  the  top  of 
the  piano.  She  leaned  against  the  piano  talking  to  the 
EngUsh  boy,  her  arms  akimbo,  '  a  peasant  woman 
might  lean  in  the  doorway  of  her  house  gossiping  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  her  httle  eyes  keen  and  eager. 
The  muscles  of  her  arms  and  of  her  magnificent  neck 
curved  generously  beneath  her  copper  draperies,  mock- 
ing the  flimsy  substance,  and  crying  out  for  the  labour 
of  the  vineyards.  Her  speech  was  tinged  with  the  faint 
accent  of  the  Islands,  soft  and  slurring.  It  was  more 
famihar  to  Julian  Davenant  than  the  harsher  Greek  of 
the  town,  for  it  was  the  speech  of  the  women  who  had 
brought  him  up  as  a  child,  women  of  the  Islands,  his 
nurses  in  his  father's  big  house  in  the  platia  of  Herak- 
leion.  It  murmured  to  him  now  in  the  rich  voice  of  the 
singer  beneath  the  chandelier. 

'Eve;  I  have  not  seen  her  yet.  You  must  teU  her 
that  I  have  returned  and  that  she  must  come  to  my 
concert  on  Wednesday.  Tell  her  that  I  will  sing  one 
song  for  her,  but  that  all  the  other  songs  must  be  for 
my  audience.  I  have  brought  back  a  new  repertoire 
from  Munich,  which  will  please  Herakleion  better,  I  hope, 
tlian  the  common  music  it  despises.' 

She  laughed  a  Httle. 

'It  has  taken  me  thirty  years  to  discover  that 
mankind  at  large  despises  the  art  of  its  own  country. 
Only  the  exotic  catches  the  ear  of  fashion.  But  Eve  has 
told  me  that  you  do  not  care  for  music?' 

'I  hke  your  music,'  he  said. 

'  I  will  tell  you  why :  because  you  are  musically 
uneducated.' 

He  looked  at  her;  she  was  smiling.  He  wondered 
whether  she  had  overheard  a  whisper  in  the  humming 
room. 

'I  speak  without  sarcasm,*  she  added;  'I  envy  you 
yovT  early  ignorance.    In  fact,  I  beheve  I  have  uttered 


24  CHALLENGE 

a  paradox,  and  that  the  words  education  and  music  are 

incompatible.  Music  is  the  emotional  art,  and  where 
education  steps  in  at  the  door  emotion  flies  out  at  the 
window.  We  should  keep  education  for  literature, 
painting,  architecture,  and  sculpture.  Music  is  the 
medium  to  which  we  turn  when  these  more  intellectual 
mediums  fail  us.' 

Juhan  hstened  with  only  half  his  brain.  This  peasant, 
this  artist,  spoke  to  him  with  the  superficial  ease  of 
drawing-rooms;  she  employed  words  that  matched  ill 
with  her  appearance  and  with  the  accent  of  her  speech. 
The  native  songs  were  right  upon  her  lips,  as  the  names 
of  architecture  and  sculpture  were  wrong.  He  was 
offended  in  his  sensitiveness.  Demeter  in  analysis  of 
the  arts  ! 

She  was  watching  him. 

'Ah,  my  young  friend,'  she  said,  'you  do  not  under- 
stand. I  spoke  to  you  as  the  cousin  of  Eve,  who  is  a 
child,  but  who  always  understands.  She  is  purely 
sentient,  emotional.' 

He  protested, — 

'I  have  always  thought  of  Eve  as  exceptionally 
sophisticated.' 

Kato  said, — 

'  You  are  right.  We  are  both  right.  Eve  is  childlike 
in  many  ways,  but  she  is  also  wise  beyond  her  years. 
She  will  grow,  believe  me,  into  a  woman  of  exceptional 
attraction,  and  to  such  women  existence  is  packed  with 
danger.  It  is  one  of  Providence's  rare  pieces  of  justice 
that  they  should  be  provided  with  a  natural  weapon  of 
self-defence.  To  a  lion  his  claws,'  she  said,  smiling,  'and 
to  the  womanly  woman  the  gift  of  penetration.  Tell  me, 
are  you  fond  of  Eve  ? ' 

JuUan  was  surprised.  He  rephed,  naif  again  and  like 
a  schoolboy, — 

'She's  my  cousin.     I  haven't  thought  much  about 


JULIAN  25 

her.  She's  only  a  child.  I  haven't  seen  her  yet  either. 
I  arrived  from  England  this  morning.' 

They  were  more  than  ever  isolated  from  the  rest  of 
the  room.  Madame  Lafarge,  talking  to  Don  Rodrigo 
Valdez,  the  Spanish  Minister,  who  had  a  birdlike  head 
above  his  immensely  high  white  collar,  glanced  now  and 
then  resentfuDy  at  the  singer,  but  otherwise  the  room 
was  indifferent.  The  sunhght  between  the  cracks  of  the 
Venetian  bhnds  had  grown  fainter,  and  the  many  candles 
were  coming  into  their  own.  A  few  people  had  already 
taken  their  leave.  An  excited  group  of  men  had  gathered 
round  little  Christopoulos,  and  the  words  '  local  politics ' 
shrieked  from  every  gesture. 

'  I  shall  not  be  expected  to  sing  again,'  said  Kato  with 
a  shght  return  to  her  ironical  manner.  'Will  you  not 
come  with  Eve  to  my  concert  on  Wednesday?  Or, 
better,  will  you  come  to  my  house  on  Wednesday 
evening  after  the  concert  ?  I  shall  be  alone,  and  I  should 
Uke  to  talk  to  you.' 

'  To  me  ? '  broke  from  him,  independently  of  his 
will. 

'Remember,'  she  said,  'I  am  from  the  Islands.  That 
is  my  country,  and  when  my  country  is  in  trouble  I  am 
not  indifferent.  You  are  very  young,  Mr  Davenant, 
and  you  are  not  very  often  in  Herakleion,  but  your 
future,  when  you  have  done  with  Oxford  and  with 
England' — she  made  a  large  gesture — 'hes  in  the 
Islands.  You  wiU  hear  a  great  deal  about  them;  a 
httle  of  this  I  should  hke  you  to  hear  from  me.  Will 
you  come?' 

The  patriot  beneath  the  artist  1  He  would  come, 
flattered,  important;  courted,  at  his  nineteen  years,  by 
a  singer  of  European  reputation.  Popularity  was  to  him 
a  new  experience.     He  expanded  beneath  its  warmth. 

'I  will  come  to  the  concert  first  with  Eve.' 

William  Davenant,  in  search  of  his  son,  and 
c.  c 


26  CHALLENGE 

light-hearted  in  his  rehef  at  the  end  of  the  monthly  duty, 
was  bowing  to  Madame  Kato,  whom  he  knew  both  as  a 
singer  and  as  a  figure  of  some  importance  in  the  troubled 
politics  of  the  tiny  State.  They  had,  in  their  lives,  spent 
many  an  hour  in  confabulation,  when  his  absent-minded 
manner  left  the  man,  and  her  acquired  pohsh  the 
woman.  He  deferred  to  her  as  a  controUing  agent  in 
practical  affairs,  spoke  of  her  to  his  brother  with  admira- 
tion. 

'A  remarkable  woman,  Robert,  a  true  patriot;  sex- 
less, I  believe,  so  far  as  her  patriotism  hes.  Malteios, 
you  say?  well,  I  know;  but,  believe  me,  she  uses  him 
merely  as  a  means  to  her  end.  Not  a  sexless  means? 
Damn  it,  one  picks  up  what  weapons  come  to  one's 
hand.  She  hasn't  a  thought  for  him,  only  for  her 
wretched  country.  She  is  a  force,  I  tell  you,  to  be 
reckoned  with.  Forget  her  sex  !  Surely  that  is  easy, 
with  a  woman  who  looks  like  a  toad.  You  make  the 
mistake  of  ignoring  the  people  when  it  is  with  the  people 
that  you  have  to  deal.  Hear  them  speak  about  her  : 
she  is  an  inspiration,  a  local  Joan  of  Arc.  She  works 
for  them  in  Paris,  in  Berlin,  and  in  London;  she  uses 
her  sex,  for  them  and  for  them  alone.  All  her  life  is 
dedicated  to  them.  She  gives  them  her  voice,  and  her 
genius.' 

Madame  Kato  did  not  know  that  he  said  these  things 
about  her  behind  her  back.  Had  she  known,  she  would 
have  been  surprised  neither  at  the  opinions  he  expressed 
nor  at  the  perception  which  enabled  him  to  express 
them,  for  she  had  seen  in  him  a  shrewd,  deliberate 
intellect  that  spoke  httle,  Hstened  gravely,  and  settled 
soberly  down  at  length  upon  a  much  tested  and  cor- 
roborated opinion.  Madame  Lafarge,  and  the  women 
to  whom  he  paid  his  courtly,  rather  pompous  duty  in 
pubhc,  thought  him  dull  and  heavy,  a  true  Englishman. 
The  men  mistrusted  him  in  company  with  his  brother 


JULIAN  .     27 

Robert,  silence,  in  the  South,  breeding  mistrust  as  does 
volubihty  in  the  North. 

The  rooms  were  emptier  now,  and  the  candles,  burning 
lower,  showed  long  icicles  of  wax  that  overflowed  on  to 
the  glass  of  the  chandehers.  The  tall  tumblers  had  been 
set  down,  here  and  there,  containing  the  dregs  of  the 
coloured  sirops.  Madame  Lafarge  looked  hot  and  weary, 
drained  of  her  early  Sunday  energy,  and  listening  absently 
to  the  parting  comphments  of  Christopoulos.  From 
the  other  room,  however,  still  came  the  laughter  of  the 
Christopoulos  sisters,  who  were  winding  up  their  round 
game. 

'Come,  JuHan,'  said  WiUiam  Davenant,  after  he  had 
spoken  and  made  his  farewells  to  Madame  Kato. 

Together  they  went  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the 
forecourt,  where  the  hotter  air  of  the  day  greeted  them 
after  the  coolness  of  the  house,  though  the  heat  was  no 
longer  that  of  the  sun,  but  the  closer,  less  glaring  heat 
of  the  atmosphere  absorbed  during  the  grilling  hours  of 
the  afternoon.  The  splendid  chasseur  handed  them 
their  hats,  and  they  left  the  Legation  and  walked  slowly 
down  the  crowded  main  street  of  the  town. 


II 

The  town  honse  of  the  Da\'-enants  stood  in  the  plLztia, 
at  right  angles  to  the  club.  On  the  death  of  old  Mr 
Davenant — 'President  Davenant,*  as  he  was  nick- 
named— the  town  and  the  country  properties  had  been 
divided  between  the  two  inheriting  brothers;  Herakleion 
said  that  the  brothers  had  drawn  lots  for  the  country 
house,  but  in  point  of  fact  the  matter  had  been  settled 
by  amicable  arrangement.  Wilham  Davenant,  the  elder 
of  the  brothers,  widowed,  with  an  only  son  away  for 
three-quarters  of  the  year  at  school  in  England,  was 
more  conveniently  installed  in  the  town,  within  five 
minutes  reach  of  the  central  office,  than  Robert,  who, 
with  a  wife  and  a  little  girl,  preferred  the  distance 
of  his  country  house  and  big  garden.  The  two 
establishments,  as  time  went  on,  became  practically 
interchangeable. 

The  rue  Royale — Herakleion  was  so  cosmopolitan  as 
to  give  to  its  principal  thoroughfare  a  French  name — was 
at  this  hour  crowded  with  the  population  that,  im- 
prisoned all  day  behind  closed  shutters,  sought  in  the 
evening  what  freshness  it  could  find  in  the  cobbled 
streets  between  the  stucco  houses.  The  street  hfe  of 
the  town  began  between  five  and  six,  and  the  Davenants, 
father  and  son,  were  jostled  as  they  walked  slowly  along 
the  pavements,  picking  their  way  amongst  the  small 
green  tables  set  outside  the  numerous  cafes.  At  these 
tables  sat  the  heterogenous  elements  that  composed  the 
summer  population  of  the  place,men  of  every  nationality: 
old  gamblers  too  disreputable  for  Monte  Carlo;  young 
Levantines,  natives,  drinking  absinthe;  Turks  in  their 
red  fezzes;   a  few  rakish  South  Americans.    The  trams 

28 


JULIAN  29 

screamed  discordantly  in  their  iron  grooves,  and  the 
bells  of  the  cinema  tinkled  unceasingly.  Between  the 
tramlines  and  the  kerb  dawdled  the  hired  victorias,  few 
empty  at  this  time  of  day,  but  crowded  with  famiUes  of 
Levantines,  the  men  in  straw  hats,  the  women  for  the 
most  part  in  hot  black,  very  stout,  and  constantly 
fanning  their  heavily  powdered  faces.  Now  and  then  a 
chasseur  from  some  diplomatic  house  passed  rapidly  in 
a  flaming  hvery. 

Mr  Davenant  talked  to  his  son  as  they  made  their  way 
along. 

'  How  terrible  those  parties  are.  I  often  wish  I  could 
dissociate  myself  altogether  from  that  life,  and  God 
knows  that  I  go  merely  to  hear  what  people  are  saying. 
They  know  it,  and  of  course  they  will  never  forgive  me. 
Julian,  in  order  to  conciHate  Herakleion,  you  will  have 
to  marry  a  Greek.' 

'Alexander  Christopoulos  attacked  me  to-day,'  Juhan 
said.  '  Wanted  me  to  go  to  Paris  with  him  and  see  the 
world.' 

He  did  not  note  in  his  own  mind  that  he  refrained 
from  saying  that  Madame  Kato  had  also,  so  to  speak, 
attacked  him  on  the  dangerous  subject  of  the  Islands, 

They  turned  now,  having  reached  the  end  of  the  rue 
Royale,  into  the  platia,  where  the  cavernous  archway 
of  the  club  stained  the  white  front  of  the  houses  v/ith 
a  mouth  of  black.  The  houses  of  the  platia  were  large, 
the  hereditary  residences  of  the  local  Greek  famihes. 
The  Christopoulos  house  stood  next  to  the  club, 
and  next  to  that  was  the  house  of  the  Premier,  His 
Excellency  Platon  Malteios,  and  next  to  that  the 
Italian  Consulate,  with  the  arms  of  Italy  on  a  painted 
hatchment  over  the  door.  The  centre  of  the  square  was 
empty,  cobbled  in  an  elaborate  pattern  which  gave  the 
effect  of  a  tessellated  pavement;  on  the  fourth  side  of 
the  square  were  no  houses,  for  here  lay  the  wide  quay 


30  CHALLENGE 

which   stretched    right    along  above  the  sea  from  one 
end  of  the  town  to  the  other. 

The  Davenant  house  faced  the  sea,  and  from  the 
balcony  of  his  bedroom  on  the  second  floor  Julian  could 
see  the  Islands,  yellow  with  httle  white  houses  on  them; 
in  the  absolute  stillness  and  limpidity  of  the  air  he  could 
count  the  windows  on  Aphros,  the  biggest  island,  and 
the  terraces  on  the  slope  of  the  hills.  The  first  time  he 
had  arrived  from  school  in  England  he  had  run  up  to 
his  bedroom,  out  on  to  the  balcony,  to  look  across  the 
platia  with  its  many  gaudily  striped  sunbhnds,  at  the 
blue  sea  and  the  little  yellow  stains  a  few  miles  out  from 
the  shore. 

At  the  door  of  the  Davenant  house  stood  two  horses 
ready  saddled  in  the  charge  of  the  door-keeper,  fat 
Aristotle,  an  islander,  who  wore  the  short  bolero  and 
pleated  fustanelle,  Uke  a  kilt,  of  his  country.  The  door- 
keepers of  the  other  houses  had  gathered  round  him, 
but  as  Mr  Davenant  came  up  they  separated  respect- 
fully and  melted  away  to  their  individual  charges. 

The  way  lay  along  the  quays  and  down  the  now 
abandoned  ilex  avenue.  The  horses'  hoofs  padded 
softly  in  the  thick  dust.  The  road  gleamed  palely 
beneath  the  thick  shadows  of  the  trees,  and  the  water, 
seen  between  the  ancient  trunks,  was  almost  purple. 
The  sun  was  gone,  and  only  the  last  bars  of  the  sunset 
lingered  in  the  sky.  At  the  tip  of  the  pier  of  Herakleion 
twinkled  already  the  single  light  of  phosphorescent 
green  that  daily,  at  sunset,  shone  out,  to  reflect  irregu- 
larly in  the  water. 

They  passed  out  of  the  avenue  into  the  open  country, 
the  road  still  skirting  the  sea  on  their  left,  while  on 
their  right  lay  the  strip  of  flat  country  crowded  in 
between  Mount  Mylassa  and  the  sea,  carefully  cultivated 
by  the  labourers  of  the  Davenants,  where  the  grapes 
hung  on  the  festooned  branches  looped  from  pole  to 


JULIAN  31 

pole.  William  Davenant  observed  them  critically, 
thinking  to  himself,  'A  good  harvest.'  Juhan  Davenant, 
fresh  from  an  EngUsh  county,  saw  as  with  a  new  eye 
their  beauty  and  their  luxuriance.  He  rode  loosely  in 
the  saddle,  his  long  legs  dangling,  indisputably  Enghsh, 
though  bom  in  one  of  the  big  painted  rooms  overlooking 
the  piatia  of  Herakleion,  and  reared  in  the  country  until 
the  age  of  ten.  He  had  always  heard  the  vintage  dis- 
cussed since  he  could  remember.  He  knew  that  his 
family  for  three  generations  had  been  the  wealthiest  in 
the  httle  state,  wealthier  than  the  Greek  banking-houses, 
and  he  knew  that  no  move  of  the  local  politics  was 
entirely  free  from  the  influence  of  his  relations.  His 
grandfather,  indeed,  having  been  refused  a  concession  he 
wanted  from  the  government,  had  roused  his  Islands  to  a 
declaration  of  independence  under  his  own  presidency 
— a  state  of  affairs  which,  preposterous  as  it  was,  had 
profoundly  alarmed  the  motley  band  that  made  up  the 
Cabinet  in  Herakleion.  What  had  been  done  once, 
could  be  repeated.  .  .  .  Granted  his  concession,  Juhan's 
grandfather  had  peaceably  laid  down  the  dignity  of  his 
new  of&ce,  but  who  could  say  that  his  sons  might  not 
repeat  the  experiment? 

These  things  had  been  always  in  the  boy's  scheme 
of  hfe.  He  had  not  pondered  them  very  deeply.  He 
supposed  that  one  day  he  would  inherit  his  father's 
share  in  the  concern,  and  would  become  one  of  the 
heads  of  the  immense  family  which  had  spread  Uke 
water  over  various  districts  of  the  Mediterranean  coasts. 
Besides  the  Davenants  of  Herakleion,  there  were 
Davenants  at  Smyrna,  Davenants  at  Salonica,  Daven- 
ants at  Constantinople.  Colonies  of  Davenants.  It  was 
said  that  the  Levant  numbered  about  sixty  famihes  of 
Davenants.  Juhan  was  not  acquainted  with  them  all. 
He  did  not  even  know  in  what  degree  of  relationship 
they  stood  to  him. 


32  CHALLENGE 

Every  time  that  he  passed  through  London  on  his 
way  to  school,  or,  now,  to  Oxford,  he  was  expected  to 
visit  his  great-uncle.  Sir  Henry,  who  lived  in  an  immense 
house  in  Belgrave  Square,  and  had  a  business  room 
downstairs  where  Julian  was  interviewed  before  luncheon. 
In  this  room  hung  framed  plans  of  the  various  Davenant 
estates,  and  Julian,  as  he  stood  waiting  for  Sir  Henry, 
would  study  the  plan  of  Herakleion,  tracing  with  his 
finger  the  line  of  the  quays,  the  indent  of  the  platia, 
the  green  of  the  race-course,  the  square  which  indicated 
the  country  house;  in  a  corner  of  this  plan  were  the 
Islands,  drawn  each  in  separate  detail.  He  became 
absorbed,  and  did  not  notice  the  entrance  of  Sir  Henry 
till  the  old  man's  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder. 

'  Ha  !  Looking  at  the  plan,  are  you  ?  Familiar  to 
you,  what?  So  it  is  famihar  to  me,  my  boy.  Never 
been  there,  you  know.  Yet  I  know  it.  I  know  my  way 
about.     Know  it  as  though  I  had  seen  it.' 

He  didn't  really  know  it,  Juhan  thought — he  didn't 
feel  the  sun  hot  on  his  hands,  or  see  the  dazzling,  flapping 
sunblinds,  or  the  advertisements  written  up  in  Greek 
characters  in  the  streets. 

Sir  Henry  went  on  with  his  sermon. 

'You  don't  belong  there,  boy;  don't  you  ever  forget 
that.  You  belong  here.  You're  English.  Bend  the 
riches  of  that  country  to  your  own  purpose,  that's 
all  right,  but  don't  identify  yourself  with  it.  Impose 
yourself.  Make  'em  adopt  your  methods.  That's  the 
strength  of  English  colonisation.' 

The  old  man,  who  was  gouty,  and  leaned  his  hands 
on  the  top  of  a  stick,  clapped  the  back  of  one  hand  with 
the  palm  of  the  other  and  blew  out  his  lips,  looking  at 
his  great-nephew, 

'Yes,  yes,  remember  that.  Impose  yourself.  On  my 
soul,  you're  a  well-grown  boy.  What  are  you?  nine- 
teen?      Great   overgrown   colt.      Get   your  hair   cut. 


JULIAN  33 

Foreign  ways;  don't  approve  of  that.  Big  hands  you've 
got;  broad  shoulders.  Loosely  put  together.  Hope 
you're  not  slack.     Can  you  ride?' 

'I  ride  all  day  out  there,'  said  JuUan  softly,  a  little 
bewildered. 

'Well,  well.  Come  to  luncheon.  Keep  a  head  on 
your  shoulders.  Your  grandfather  lost  his  once;  very 
foohsh  man.  Wonder  he  didn't  lose  it  altogether. 
President  indeed  !  stuff  and  nonsense.  Not  practical, 
sir,  not  practical.'  Sir  Henry  blew  very  hard.  'Let's 
have  no  such  rubbish  from  you,  boy.  What '11  you 
drink?  Here,  I'll  give  you  the  best :  Herakleion,  1895. 
Best  year  we  ever  had.  Hope  you  appreciate  good  wine; 
you're  a  wine-merchant,  you  know.' 

He  cackled  loudly  at  his  joke.  Julian  drank  the  wine 
that  had  ripened  on  the  slopes  of  Mount  Mylassa,  or 
possibly  on  the  Islands,  and  wished  that  the  old  man 
had  not  so  blatantly  called  him  a  wine-merchant.  He 
hked  Sir  Henry,  although  after  leaving  him  he  always 
had  the  sensation  of  having  been  buffeted  by  spasmodic 
gusts  of  wind. 

He  was  thinking  about  Sir  Henry  now  as  he  rode 
along,  and  pitying  the  old  man  to  whom  those  swags  of 
fruit  meant  only  a  dusty  bottle,  a  red  or  a  blue  seal, 
and  a  date  stamped  in  gold  numerals  on  a  black  label. 
The  Hght  was  extraordinarily  tender,  and  the  air  seemed 
almost  tangible  with  the  heavy,  honeyed  warmth  that 
hung  over  the  road.  Julian  took  off  his  gray  felt  hat 
and  hung  it  on  the  high  peak  of  his  saddle. 

They  passed  through  a  httle  village,  which  was  no 
more  than  a  score  of  tumbledown  houses  sown  carelessly 
on  each  side  of  the  road;  here,  as  in  the  rue  Royale, 
the  peasants  sat  drinking  at  round  tables  outside  the 
cafe  to  the  harsh  music  of  a  gramophone,  with  applause 
and  noisy  laughter.  Near  by,  half  a  dozen  men  were 
playing  at  bowls.    When  they  saw  Mr  Davenant,  they 


34  CHALLENGE 

came  forward  in  a  body  and  laid  eager  hands  on  the 
neck  of  his  horse.     He  reined  up. 

Julian  heard  the  tumult  of  words  :  some  one  had 
been  arrested,  it  was  VassUi's  brother.  Vassili,  he  knew, 
was  the  big  chasseur  at  the  French  Legation.  He  heard 
his  father  soothing,  promising  he  would  look  into  the 
matter;  he  would,  if  need  be,  see  the  Premier  on  the 
morrow.  A  woman  flung  herself  out  of  the  caf^  and 
clasped  Julian  by  the  knee.  They  had  taken  her  lover. 
Would  he,  Juhan,  who  was  young,  be  merciful?  Would 
he  urge  his  father's  interference?  He  promised  also 
what  was  required  of  him,  feehng  a  strange  thrill  of 
emotion  and  excitement.  Ten  days  ago  he  had  been  at 
Oxford,  and  here,  to-day,  Kato  had  spoken  to  him  as  to 
a  grown  man,  and  here  in  the  dusk  a  sobbing  woman  was 
chnging  about  his  knee.  This  was  a  place  in  which 
anything,  fantastic  or  preposterous,  might  come  to  pass. 

As  they  rode  on,  side  by  side,  his  father  spoke,  think- 
ing aloud.  An  absent-minded  man,  he  gave  his  con- 
fidence solely  in  this,  so  to  speak,  unintentional  manner. 
Long  periods,  extending  sometimes  over  months,  during 
which  his  mind  lay  fallow,  had  as  their  upshot  an  out- 
break of  this  audible  self-communion.  Julian  had 
inherited  the  trait;  his  mind  progressed,  not  regularly, 
but  by  alternate  stagnation  and  a  forward  bound. 

'  The  mistake  that  we  have  made  lies  in  the  importa- 
tion of  whole  famihes  of  islanders  to  the  mainland.  The 
Islands  have  always  considered  themselves  as  a  thing 
apart,  as,  indeed,  historically,  they  always  were.  A 
hundred  years  is  not  sufficient  to  make  them  an  intrinsic 
part  of  the  State  of  Herakleion.  I  cannot  wonder  that 
the  authorities  here  dislike  us.  We  have  introduced  a 
discontented  population  from  the  Islands  to  spread 
sedition  among  the  hitherto  contented  population  of  the 
mainland.  If  we  were  wise,  we  should  ship  the  whole 
lot  back  to  the  Islands  they  came  from.    Now,  a  man  is 


JULIAN  35 

arrested  on  the  Islands  by  the  authorities,  and  what 
happens?  He  is  the  brother  of  Vassih,  an  islander  hving 
in  Herakleion.  Vassih  spreads  the  news,  it  flies  up  and 
down  the  town,  and  out  into  the  country.  It  has  greeted 
us  out  here  aheady.  In  every  cafe  of  the  town  at  this 
moment  the  islanders  are  gathered  together,  muttering; 
some  will  get  drunk,  perhaps,  and  the  municipal  pohce 
will  intervene;  from  a  drunken  row  the  affair  will  become 
poHtical;  some  one  will  raise  the  cry  of  "Liberty!", 
heads  will  be  broken,  and  to-morrow  a  score  of  islanders 
will  be  in  jail.  They  will  attribute  their  imprisonment 
to  the  general  hostihty  to  their  nationality,  rather  than 
to  the  insignificant  brawl.  Vassih  will  come  to  me  in 
Herakleion  to-morrow.  Will  I  exercise  my  influence 
with  Malteios  to  get  his  brother  released?  I  shall  go, 
perhaps,  to  Malteios,  who  will  hsten  to  me  suavely, 
evasively  ...  It  has  all  happened  a  hundred  times 
before.  I  say,  we  ought  to  ship  the  whole  lot  back  to 
where  they  came  from.' 

'I  suppose  they  are  really  treated  with  unfairness?' 
Julian  said,  more  speculation  than  interest  in  his  tone. 

'  I  suppose  a  great  many  people  would  think  so.  The 
authorities  are  certainly  severe,  but  they  are  constantly 
provoked.  And,  you  know,  your  uncle  and  I  make  it 
up  to  the  islanders  in  a  number  of  private  ways.  Ninety 
per  cent,  of  the  men  on  the  Islands  are  employed  by  us, 
and  it  pays  us  to  keep  them  devoted  to  us  by  more 
material  bonds  than  mere  sentiment;  also  it  alleviates 
their  discontent,  and  so  obviates  much  friction  with 
Herakleion.' 

'But  of  course,'  said  Juhan  quickly,  'you  don't  aUow 
Malteios  to  suspect  this  ? ' 

'My  dear  boy  !  what  do  you  suppose?  Malteios  is 
President  of  Herakleion.  Of  course,  we  don't  mention 
such  things.  But  he  knows  it  all  very  well,  and  winks 
at  it — perforce.     Our  understanding  with  Malteios  is 


36  CHALLENGE 

entirely  satisfactory,  entirely.  He  is  on  very  wholesome 
terms  of  friendly  respect  to  us.' 

Julian  rarely  pronounced  h'mself;  he  did  so  now, 

'If  I  were  an  islander — tLi.t  is,  one  of  a  subject  race 
— I  don't  think  I  should  be  very  well  content  to  forgo 
my  hbeity  in  exchange  tor  undeihdnd  compeubation 
from  an  employer  whose  tactics  it  suited  to  conciliate 
my  natural  dissatisfaction.' 

'What  a  ridiculous  phrase.  And  what  ridiculous 
sentiments  you  occasionally  give  vent  to.  No,  no,  the 
present  arrangement  is  as  satisfactory  as  we  can  hope 
to  make  it,  always  excepting  that  one  flaw,  that  we  ought 
not  to  allow  islanders  in  large  numbers  to  hve  upon  the 
mainland.' 

They  turned  in  between  the  two  white  lodges  of  the 
country  house,  and  rode  up  the  drive  between  the  tall, 
pungent,  untidy  trees  of  eucalyptus.  The  house,  one- 
storied,  low,  and  covered  with  wistaria  and  bougain- 
villea,  ghmmered  white  in  the  uncertain  light.  The 
shutters  were  flung  back  and  the  open  windows  gaped, 
oblong  and  black,  at  regular  intervals  on  the  upper  floor. 
On  the  ground  level,  a  broad  veranda  stretched  right 
along  the  front  of  the  house,  and  high  French  windows, 
opening  on  to  this,  yellow  with  hght,  gave  access  to  the 
downstairs  rooms. 

'  Hola  ! '  Mr  Davenant  called  in  a  loud  voice. 

'Malista,  Kyrie,'  a  man's  voice  answered,  and  a 
servant  in  the  white  fustanelle  of  the  Islands,  with 
black  puttees  wound  round  his  legs,  and  red  shoes  with 
turned-up  toes  and  enormous  rosettes  on  the  tip,  came 
running  to  hold  the  horses. 

'They  have  taken  Vassili's  brother,  Kyrie,'  he  said 
as  Mr  Davenant  gave  him  the  reins. 

Julian  was  already  in  the  drawing-room,  among  the 
chintz-covered  sofas,  loaded  little  tables,  and  ubiquitous 
gilt  chairs.     Four  fat  columns,  painted  to  represent 


JULIAN  37 

lapis-lazuli,  divided  the  room  into  two  halves,  and  from 
their  Corinthian  capitals  issued  flames  made  of  red 
tinsel  and  painted  gray  smoke,  which  dispersed  itself 
realistically  over  the  ceiling. 

He  stood  in  the  window,  absently  looking  out  into 
the  garden  across  the  veranda,  where  the  dinner  table 
was  laid  for  six.  Pots  of  oleander  and  agapanthus  stood 
along  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  between  the  fat  white 
columns,  with  gaps  between  them  through  which  one 
might  pass  out  into  the  garden,  and  beyond  them  in  the 
garden  proper  the  fruit  gleamed  on  the  lemon-trees,  and, 
somewhere,  the  sea  whispered  in  the  dusk.  The  night 
was  calm  and  hot  with  the  serenity  of  established  summer 
weather,  the  stars  big  and  steady  hke  sequins  in  the 
summer  sky.  The  spirit  of  such  serenity  does  not  brood 
over  England,  where  to-day's  pretence  of  summer  will 
be  broken  by  the  fresh  laughter  of  to-morrow's  shower. 
The  rose  must  fall  to  pieces  in  the  height  of  its  beauty 
beneath  the  fingers  of  sudden  and  capricious  storm.  But 
here  the  lemons  hung,  swollen  and  heavily  pendulous, 
among  the  metallic  green  of  their  leaves,  awaiting  the 
accomplished  end  of  their  existence,  the  deepening  of 
their  gold,  the  fuller  curve  of  their  ripened  luxuriance, 
with  the  complacency  of  certainty;  fruit,  not  for  the 
whim  of  the  elements,  but  progressing  throughout  the 
year  steadfastly  towards  the  hand  and  the  basket  of  the 
picker.  Here  and  there  the  overburdened  stem  would 
snap,  and  the  oblong  ball  of  greenish-gold  would  fall 
with  a  soft  and  melancholy  thud,  like  a  sigh  of  regret, 
upon  the  ground  beneath  the  tree;  would  roll  a  little 
way,  and  then  be  still.  The  little  grove  stretched  in 
ordered  hues  and  spaces,  from  the  veranda,  where  the 
windows  of  the  house  threw  rectangles  of  yellow  light 
on  to  the  ground  in  the  blackness,  to  the  bottom  of  the 
garden,  where  the  sea  washed  indolently  against  the 
rocks. 


38  CHALLENGE 

Presently  he  would  see  Eve,  his  eyes  would  meet  her 
mocking  eyes,  and  they  would  smile  at  one  another  out 
of  the  depths  of  their  immemorial  friendship.  She  was 
familiar  to  him,  so  famihar  that  he  could  not  remember 
the  time  when,  difi&cult,  intractable,  exasperating,  subtle, 
incomprehensible,  she  had  not  formed  part  of  his  Hfe. 
She  was  as  famiUar  to  him  as  the  house  in  the  platia, 
with  its  big,  empty  drawing-room,  the  walls  frescoed 
with  swinging  monkeys,  broken  columns,  and  a  romantic 
land  and  seascape;  as  the  talk  about  the  vintage;  as 
the  preposterous  politics,  always  changing,  yet  always, 
monotonously,  nauseatingly,  pettishly,  the  same.  She 
was  not  part  of  his  hfe  in  England,  the  prosaic  Hfe;  she 
was  part  of  his  life  on  the  Greek  seaboard,  unreal  and 
fantastic,  where  the  most  improbable  happenings  came 
along  with  an  air  of  ingenuousness,  romance  walking 
in  the  garments  of  every  day.  After  a  week  in  Herakleion 
he  could  not  disentangle  the  real  from  the  unreal. 

It  was  the  more  baffling  because  those  around  him, 
older  and  wiser  than  he,  appeared  to  take  the  situation 
for  granted  and  to  treat  it  with  a  seriousness  that  some- 
times led  him,  when,  forgetful,  he  was  off  his  guard,  to 
beheve  that  the  country  was  a  real  country  and  that 
its  statesmen,  Platon  Malteios,  Gregori  Stavridis,  and 
the  rest,  were  real  statesmen  working  soberly  towards 
a  definite  end.  That  its  riots  were  revolutions;  that 
its  factions  were  pohtical  parties;  that  its  discordant, 
abusive,  wrangling  Chamber  was  indeed  a  Senate.  That 
its  four  hundred  stout  soldiers,  who  periodically  paraded 
the  platia  under  the  command  of  a  general  in  a  uniform 
designed  by  a  theatrical  costumier  in  Buda-Pesth,  were 
indeed  an  army.  That  the  platia  itself  was  a  forum. 
That  the  society  was  briUiant;  that  its  Haisons  had  the 
dignity  of  great  passions.  That  his  aunt,  who  talked 
weightily  and  contradicted  every  one,  including  herself 
— the  only  person  who  ever  ventured  to  do  such  a  thing 


JULIAN  39 

— ^was  indeed  a  political  figure,  an  Egeria  among  the 
men  in  whose  hands  lay  the  direction  of  affairs.  In  his 
more  forgetful  moments,  he  was  tempted  to  believe  these 
things,  when  he  saw  his  father  and  his  Uncle  Robert, 
both  unbending,  incisive,  hard-headed  business  men, 
beheving  them.  As  a  rule,  preserving  his  nice  sense  of 
perspective,  he  saw  them  as  a  setting  to  Eve. 

He  was  beginning  to  adjust  himself  again  to  the  life 
which  faded  with  so  extraordinary  a  rapidity  as  the 
express  or  the  steamer  bore  him  away,  three  times  a  year, 
to  England.  It  faded  always  then  like  a  photographic 
proof  when  exposed  to  the  light.  The  pohtical  jargon 
was  the  first  to  go — he  knew  the  sequence — 'civil  war,' 
'independent  archipelago,'  'overthrow  of  the  Cabinet,' 
'a  threat  to  the  Malteios  party,'  'intrigues  of  the 
Stavridists,'  the  well-known  phrases  that,  through  sheer 
force  of  reiteration,  he  accepted  without  analysis;  then, 
after  the  pohtical  jargon,  the  familiar  figures  that  he 
saw  almost  daily.  Sharp,  his  father's  chief  clerk;  Aristotle, 
the  door-keeper,  his  tussore  fustanelle  hanging  magisteri- 
ally from  the  rotundity  of  his  portentous  figure;  Madame 
Lafarge,  erect,  and  upholstered  like  a  sofa,  driving  in  her 
barouche;  the  young  men  at  the  club,  languid  and  insolent 
and  hcentious;  then,  after  the  familiar  figures,  thefamihar 
scenes;  and  lastly  Eve  herself,  till  he  could  no  longer 
recall  the  drowsy  tones  of  her  voice,  or  evoke  her  eyes, 
that,  though  ahve  with  mahce  and  mockery,  were  yet 
charged  with  a  mystery  to  which  he  could  give  no  name. 
He  was  sad  when  these  things  began  to  fade.  He  clung 
on  to  them,  because  they  were  dear,  but  they  shpped 
through  his  fingers  Uke  running  water.  Their  evanes- 
cence served  only  to  convince  him  the  more  of  their 
unreality. 

Then,  England,  immutable,  sagacious,  balanced; 
Oxford,  venerable  and  self-confident,  turning  the  yoimg 
men  of  the  nation  as  by  machinery  out  of  her  mould. 


40  CHALLENGE 

Law-abiding  England,  where  men  worked  their  way 
upwards,  attaining  power  and  honour  in  the  ripeness  of 
years.  London,  where  the  houses  were  of  stone.  Where 
was  Herakleion,  stucco-built  and  tawdry,  city  of  per- 
petually-clanging bells,  revolutions,  and  Prime  Ministers 
made  and  unmade  in  a  day?  Herakleion  of  the  yellow 
islands,  washed  by  too  blue  a  sea.     Where? 

Eve  had  never  been  to  England,  nor  could  he  see  any 
place  in  England  for  her.  She  should  continue  to  live 
as  she  had  always  lived,  among  the  vines  and  the 
magnolias,  attended  by  a  fat  old  woman  who,  though 
English,  had  spent  so  many  years  of  her  life  in  Herakleion 
that  her  EngUsh  speech  was  oddly  tainted  by  the 
southern  lisp  of  the  native  Greek  she  had  never  been 
able  to  master;  old  Nana,  who  had  lost  the  famiUarity 
of  one  tongue  without  acquiring  that  of  another;  the 
ideal  duenna  for  Eve. 

Then  with  a  light  step  across  the  veranda  a  young 
Greek  priest  came  into  the  room  by  one  of  the  French 
windows,  blinking  and  smiling  in  the  light,  dressed  in 
a  long  black  soutane  and  black  cap,  his  red  hair  rolled 
up  into  a  knob  at  the  back  of  his  head  according  to  the 
fashion  of  his  church.  He  tripped  sometimes  over  his 
soutane  as  he  walked,  muscular  and  masculine  inside 
that  feminine  garment,  and  when  he  did  this  he  would 
gather  it  up  impatiently  with  a  hand  on  which  grew 
a  pelt  of  wiry  red  hairs.  Father  Paul  had  instituted 
himself  as  a  kind  of  private  chaplain  to  the  Davenants. 
Eve  encouraged  him  because  she  thought  him  picturesque. 
Mrs  Robert  Davcnant  found  him  invaluable  as  a  lieuten- 
ant in  her  campaign  of  control  over  the  peasants  and 
villagers,  over  whom  she  exercised  a  despotic  if  benevolent 
authority.  He  was  therefore  free  to  come  and  go  as  he 
pleased. 

The  population,  Julian  thought,  was  flowing  back  into 
his  recovered  world. 


JULIAN  41: 

England  and  Oxford  were  put  aside,  not  forgotten, 
not  indistinct,  not  faded  like  Herakleion  was  wont  to 
lade,  but  merely  put  aside,  laid  away  like  winter 
garments  in  summer  weather.  He  was  once  more  in  the 
kingdom  of  stucco  and  adventure.  Eve  was  coming 
back  to  him,  with  her  strange  shadowy  eyes  and  red 
mouth,  and  her  frivolity  beneath  which  lay  some  force 
which  was  not  frivolous.  There  were  women  who  were 
primarily  pretty;  women  who  were  primarily  motherly; 
women  who,  hke  Mrs  Robert  Davenant,  were  primarily 
efficient,  commanding,  successful,  metallic;  women  who, 
like  Kato,  were  consumed  by  a  flame  of  purpose  which 
broke,  hot  and  scorching,  from  their  speech  and  burned 
relentlessly  in  their  eyes;  women  who  were  primarily 
vain  and  trifling;  he  found  he  could  crowd  Eve  into 
no  such  category.  He  recalled  her,  spoilt,  exquisite, 
witty,  mettlesome,  elusive,  tantalising;  detached  from 
such  practical  considerations  as  punctuality,  conven- 
ience, rehabihty.  A  creature  that,  from  the  age  of  three, 
had  exacted  homage  and  protection.  .  .  . 

He  heard  her  indolent  voice  behind  him  in  the  room, 
and  turned  expectantly  for  their  meeting. 


Ill 

It  was,  however,  during  his  first  visit  to  the  singer's  flat 
that  he  felt  himself  again  completely  a  citizen  of  Herak- 
leion;  that  he  felt  himself,  in  fact,  closer  than  ever  before 
to  the  beating  heart  of  intrigue  and  aspiration,  Kato 
received  him  alone,  and  her  immediate  comradely  grasp 
of  his  hand  dispelled  the  shyness  which  had  been  induced 
in  him  by  the  concert;  her  vigorous  simplicity  caused 
him  to  forget  the  applause  and  enthusiasm  he  had  that 
afternoon  seen  lavished  on  her  as  a  public  figure;  he 
found  in  her  an  almost  masculine  friendliness  and  keen- 
ness of  intellect,  which  loosened  his  tongue,  sharpened 
his  wits,  set  him  on  the  path  of  discovery  and  self- 
expression.  Kato  watched  him  with  her  httle  bright 
eyes,  nodding  her  approval  with  quick  grunts;  he  paced 
her  room,  talking. 

'Does  one  come,  ever,  to  a  clear  conception  of  one's 
ultimate  ambitions?  Not  one's  personal  ambitions,  of 
course;  they  don't  count.'  ('How  young  he  is,'  she 
thought.)  'But  to  conceive  clearly,  I  mean,  exactly 
what  one  sets  out  to  create,  and  what  to  destroy.  If 
not,  one  must  surely  spend  the  whole  of  hfe  working  in 
the  dark?  Lajnng  in  httle  bits  of  mosaic,  without  once 
stepping  back  to  examine  the  whole  scheme  of  the 
picture.  .  .  .  One  instinctively  opposes  authority.  One 
struggles  for  freedom.  Why?  Why?  What's  at  the 
bottom  of  that  instinct?  Why  are  we,  men,  bom  the 
instinctive  enemies  of  order  and  civilisation,  when  order 
and  civilisation  are  the  weapons  and  the  shields  we,  men, 
have  ourselves  instituted  for  our  own  protection?  It's 
illogical. 

'Why  do  we,  every  one  of  us,  refute  the  experience 
42 


JULIAN  43 

of  others,  ja-ef erring  to  gain  our  own?  Why  do  we 
fight  against  government  ?  why  do  I  want  to  be  indepen- 
dent of  my  father?  or  the  Islands  independent  of 
Herakleion?  or  Herakleion  independent  of  Greece? 
What's  this  instinct  of  wanting  to  stand  alone,  to  be 
oneself,  isolated,  free,  individual?  Why  does  instinct 
push  us  towards  individuahsm,  when  the  great  well- 
being  of  mankind  probably  Hes  in  sohdarity?  when  the 
social  system  in  its  most  elementary  form  starts  with 
men  clubbing  together  for  comfort  and  greater  safety? 
No  sooner  have  we  achieved  our  sohdarity,  our  hierarchy, 
our  social  system,  our  civihsation,  than  we  want  to  get 
away  from  it.  A  vicious  circle;  the  wheel  revolves,  and 
brings  us  back  to  the  same  point  from  which  we  started.' 

'Yes,'  said  Kato,  'there  is  certainly  an  obscure 
sympathy  with  the  rebel,  that  hes  somewhere  dormant 
in  the  soul  of  the  most  platitudinous  advocate  of  law 
and  order.'  She  was  amused  by  his  generahsations,  and 
was  clever  enough  not  to  force  him  back  too  abruptly 
to  the  matter  she  had  in  mind.  She  thought  him 
ludicrously,  though  rather  touchingly,  young,  both  in 
his  ideas  and  his  phraseology;  but  at  the  same  time  she 
shrewdly  discerned  the  force  which  was  in  him  and  which 
she  meant  to  use  for  her  own  ends.  '  You,'  she  said  to 
him,  'will  argue  in  favour  of  society,  yet  you  will  spend 
your  hfe,  or  at  any  rate  your  youth,  in  revolt  against  it. 
Youth  dies,  you  see,  when  one  ceases  to  rebel.  Besides,' 
she  added,  scrutinising  him,  'the  time  will  very  soon 
come  when  you  cease  to  argue  and  begin  to  act.  Believe 
me,  one  soon  discards  one's  wider  examinations,  and 
learns  to  content  oneself  with  the  practical  business  of 
the  moment.    One's  own  bit  of  the  mosaic,  as  you  said.' 

He  felt  wholesomely  sobered,  but  not  reproved;  he 
liked  Kato's  penetration,  her  vivid,  intelligent  sympathy, 
and  her  point  of  view  which  was  practical  without  being 
cynical. 


44  CHALLENGE 

*I  have  come  to  one  real  conclusion,'  he  said,  'which 
is.  that  pain  alone  is  intrinsically  evil,  and  that  in  the 
lightening  or  abolition  of  pain  one  is  safe  in  going 
straight  ahead;  it  is  a  bit  of  the  mosaic  worth  doing. 
So  in  the  Islands  .  .  .'he  paused. 

K:io  repressed  a  smile;  she  was  more  and  more 
touched  and  entertained  by  his  youthful,  dogmatic 
statements,  which  were  delivered  with  a  concentration 
aj:id  an  ardour  that  utterly  disarmed  derision.  She 
was  flattered,  too,  by  his  unthinking  confidence  in 
her;  for  she  knew  him  by  report  as  morose  and 
uncommunicative,  with  relapses  into  rough  high  spirits 
sjid  a  schoolboy  sense  of  farce.  Eve  had  described  him 
as  inaccessible.  .  .  . 

'  Wlien  you  go,  as  you  say,  straight  ahead,'  he  resumed, 
frowning,  his  eyes  absent. 

Kato  began  to  dwell,  very  skilfully,  upon  the  topic 
of  the  Islands.  .  .  . 

Certain  events  which  Madame  Kato  had  then  pre- 
dicted to  Julian  followed  with  a  suddenness,  an  un- 
expectedness, that  perplexed  the  mind  of  the  inquirer 
seeking,  not  only  their  origin,  but  their  chronological 
sequence.  They  came  like  a  summer  storm  sweeping 
briefly,  boisterously  across  the  land  after  the  inadequate 
warning  of  distant  rumbles  and  the  flash  of  innocuous 
summer  hghtning.  The  thunder  had  rumbled  so  often, 
it  might  be  said  that  it  had  rumbled  daily,  and  the 
hghtning  had  twitched  so  often  in  the  sky,  that  men 
remained  surprised  and  resentful  long  af'.er  the  rough 
little  tornado  had  passed  away.  They  remained  staring 
at  one  another,  scratching  their  heads  under  their  straw 
hats,  or  leaning  against  the  parapet  on  the  quays, 
exploring  the  recesses  of  their  teeth  with  the  omni- 
present toothpick,  and  staring  across  the  sea  to  those 
Islands  whence  the  stoLji  had  surely  come,  as  though 


JULIAN  45 

by  this  intense,  frowning  contemplation  they  would 
finally  provide  themselves  with  enhghtenment.  Groups 
of  men  sat  outside  the  caf^,  their  elbows  on  the  tables, 
advancing  in  tones  of  whispered  vehemence  their 
individual  positive  theories  and  opinions,  beating  time 
to  their  own  rhetoric  and  driving  home  each  cherished 
point  with  the  emphatic  stab  of  a  long  cigar.  In  the 
casino  itself,  with  the  broken  windows  gaping  jaggedly 
on  to  the  forecourt,  and  the  red  curtains  of  the  atrium 
hanging  in  rags  from  those  same  windows,  men  stood 
pointing  in  Httle  knots.  'Here  they  stood  still,'  and 
'  From  here  he  threw  the  bomb,'  and  those  who  had  been 
present  on  the  day  were  listened  to  with  a  respect  they 
never  in  their  hves  had  commanded  before  and  never 
would  command  again. 

There  was  no  sector  of  society  in  Herakleion  that  did 
not  discuss  the  matter  with  avidity;  more,  with  grati- 
tude. Brigandage  was  brigandage,  a  picturesque  but 
rather  opera  houffe  form  of  crime,  but  at  the  same  time 
an  excitement  was,  indubitably,  an  excitement.  The 
Ministers,  in  their  despatches  to  their  home  govern- 
ments, affected  to  treat  the  incident  as  the  work  of  a 
fortuitous  band  rather  than  as  an  organised  expedition 
with  an  underlying  poUtical  significance,  nevertheless 
they  fastened  upon  it  as  a  pretext  for  their  wit  in  Herak- 
leion, where  no  sardonic  and  departmental  eye  would 
regard  them  with  superior  tolerance  much  as  a  grown-up 
person  regards  the  facile  amusement  of  a  child.  At  the 
diplomatic  dinner  parties  very  Httle  else  was  talked  of. 
At  tea  parties,  women,  drifting  from  house  to  house, 
passed  on  as  their  own  the  witticisms  they  had  most 
recently  heard,  which  became  common  property  until 
reclaimed  from  general  circulation  by  the  indignant 
perpetrators.  From  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  French 
Ligation,  down  to  village  cafes  where  the  gramophone 
grated  unheard  and  the  bowls  lay  neglected  on  the 


46  CHALLENGE 

bowling  alley,  one  topic  reigned  supreme.  What  nobody 
knew,  and  what  everybody  wondered  about,  was  the 
attitude  adopted  by  the  Davenants  in  the  privacy  of 
their  country  house.  What  spoken  or  unspoken  under- 
standing existed  between  the  inscrutable  brothers? 
What  veiled  references,  or  candid  judgments,  escaped 
from  William  Davenant's  lips  as  he  lay  back  in  his  chair 
after  dinner,  a  glass  of  wine — wine  of  his  own  growing — 
between  his  fingers?  What  indiscretions,  that  would 
have  fallen  so  delectably  upon  the  inquisitive  ears  of 
Herakleion,  did  he  utter,  secure  in  the  confederacy  of 
his  efficient  and  vigorous  sister-in-law,  of  the  more 
negligible  Robert,  the  untidy  and  taciturn  Juhan,  the 
indifferent  Eve? 

It  was  as  universally  taken  for  granted  that  the  out- 
rage proceeded  from  the  islanders  as  it  was  ferociously 
regretted  that  the  offenders  could  not,  from  lack  of 
evidence,  be  brought  to  justice.  They  had,  at  the 
moment,  no  special  grievance;  only  their  perennial 
grievances,  of  which  everybody  was  tired  of  hearing. 
The  brother  of  Vassili,  a  quite  unimportant  labourer, 
had  been  released;  M.  Lafarge  had  interested  himself  in 
his  servant's  brother,  and  had  made  representations  to 
the  Premier,  which  Malteios  had  met  with  his  usual 
urbane  courtesy.  An  hour  later  the  fellow  had  been 
seen  setting  out  in  a  rowing  boat  for  Aphros.  All, 
therefore,  was  for  the  best.  Yet  within  twenty-four 
hours  of  this  proof  of  leniency  .  .  . 

The  elite  were  dining  on  the  evening  of  these  un- 
expected occurrences  at  the  French  Legation  to  meet 
two  guests  of  honour,  one  a  distinguished  Albanian 
statesman  who  could  speak  no  language  but  his  own, 
and  the  other  an  EngUshman  of  irregular  appearances 
and  disappearances,  an  enthusiast  on  all  matters  con- 
nected with  the  Near  East.  In  the  countries  he  visited 
he  was  considered  an  expert  who  had  the  ear  of  the 


JULIAN  47 

English  Cabinet  and  House  of  Commons,  but  by  these 
institutions  he  was  considered  merely  a  crank  and  a 
nuisance.  His  conversation  was  after  the  style  of  the 
more  economical  type  of  telegram,  with  all  prepositions, 
most  pronouns,  and  a  good  many  verbs  left  out;  it 
gained  thereby  in  mystery  what  it  lost  in  intelligibility, 
and  added  greatly  to  his  reputation.  He  and  the 
Albanian  had  stood  apart  in  confabulation  before  dinner, 
the  Enghshman  arguing,  expounding,  striking  his  open 
palm  with  the  fingers  of  the  other  hand,  shooting  out 
his  limbs  in  spasmodic  and  ungraceful  gestures,  the 
Albanian  unable  to  put  in  a  word,  but  appreciatively 
nodding  his  head  and  red  fez. 

Madame  Lafarge  sat  between  them  both  at  dinner, 
listening  to  the  Enghshman  as  though  she  understood 
what  he  was  saying  to  her,  which  she  did  not,  and 
occasionally  turning  to  the  Albanian  to  whom  she 
smiled  and  nodded  in  a  friendly  and  regretful  way. 
Whenever  she  did  this  he  made  her  a  profound  bow  and 
drank  her  health  in  the  sweet  champagne.  Here  their 
intercourse  perforce  ended. 

Half-way  through  dinner  a  note  was  handed  to 
M.  Lafarge.  He  gave  an  exclamation  which  silenced  all 
his  end  of  the  table,  and  the  Enghshman's  voice  was 
alone  left  talking  in  the  sudden  hush. 

'  Turkey  ! '  he  was  saying.  '  Another  matter  !  Ah, 
ghost  of  Abdul  Hamid  ! '  and  then,  shaking  his  head 
mournfully,  'world-treachery — world-conspiracy  .  .  .' 

'Ah,  yes,'  said  Madame  Lafarge,  rapt,  'how  true  that 
is,  how  right  you  are.' 

She  realised  that  no  one  else  was  speaking,  and  raised 
her  head  interrogatively. 

Lafarge  said, — 

'Something  has  occurred  at  the  casino,  but  there  is 
no  cause  for  alarm ;  nobody  has  been  hurt.  I  am  sending 
a  messenger  for  further  details.     This  note  expUcitly 


48  CHALLENGE 

gays' — ^he  consulted  it  again — 'that  no  one  is  injured. 
A  mere  question  of  robbery;  an  impudent  and  successful 
attempt.  A  bomb  has  been  thrown,' — {'Mais  Us  sont 
done  tons  apaches  ? '  cried  Condesa  Valdez.  Lafarge 
went  on) — '  but  they  say  the  damage  is  all  in  the  atrium, 
and  is  confined  to  broken  windows,  torn  hangings,  and 
mirrors  cracked  from  top  to  bottom.  Glass  lies  plenti- 
fully scattered  about  the  floor.  But  I  hope  that  before 
very  long  we  may  be  in  possession  of  a  little  more  news.' 
He  sent  the  smile  of  a  host  round  the  table,  reassuring 
in  the  face  of  anxiety. 

A  httle  pause,  punctuated  by  a  few  broken  ejacula- 
tions, followed  upon  his  announcement. 

'How  characteristic  of  Herakleion,'  cried  Alexander 
Christopoulos,  who  had  been  anxiously  searching  for 
something  noteworthy  and  contemptuous  to  say,  'that 
even  with  the  help  of  a  bomb  we  can  achieve  only  a 
disaster  that  tinkles.' 

The  Danish  Excellency  was  heard  to  say  tearfully, — 

'A  robbery  !  a  bomb  !  and  practically  in  broad  day- 
light !     What  a  place,  what  a  place  ! ' 

'  Those  Islands  again,  for  certain  ! '  Madame  Delahaye 
exclaimed,  with  entire  absence  of  tact;  her  husband,  the 
French  Military  Attache,  frowned  at  her  across  the  table; 
and  the  diplomatists  all  looked  down  their  noses. 

Then  the  EngUshman,  seeing  his  opportunity,  broke 
out, — 

'Very  significant !  all  of  a  piece — anarchy — intrigue 
— no  strong  hand — free  peoples.  Too  many,  too  many. 
Small  nationalities.  Chips  !  Cut-throats,  all.  So  1 ' — 
he  drew  his  fingers  with  an  expressive  sibilant  sound 
across  his  own  throat.  '  Asking  for  trouble.  Yugo-Slavs 
— bah  !  Poles — pfui !  Eastern  empire,  that's  the  thing. 
Turks  the  only  people' — the  Albanian,  fortunately 
innocent  of  English,  was  smiUng  amiably  as  he  stirred 
his  champagne — 'great  people.     Armenians,  wash-out. 


JULIAN  49 

Quite  right  too.  Herakleion,  worst  of  all.  Not  even 
a  chip.     Only  the  chip  of  a  chip.' 

'And  the  Islands,'  said  the  Danish  Excellency 
brightly,  'want  to  be  the  chip  of  a  chip  of  a  chip.' 

'Yes,  yes,'  said  Madame  Lafarge,  who  had  been 
getting  a  little  anxious,  trying  to  provoke  a  laugh,  '  Fru 
Thyregod  has  hit  it  as  usual — elle  a  trouve  le  mot  juste,' 
she  added,  thinking  that  if  she  turned  the  conversation 
back  into  French  it  might  check  the  EngUshman's 
truncated  eloquence. 

Out  in  the  town,  the  quay  was  the  centre  of  interest. 
A  large  crowd  had  collected  there,  noisy  in  the  immense 
peace  of  the  evening.  Far,  far  out,  a  speck  on  the  opal 
sea,  could  still  be  distinguished  the  httle  boat  in  which 
the  three  men,  perpetrators  of  the  outrage,  had  made 
good  their  escape.  Beyond  the  little  boat,  even  less 
distinct,  the  sea  was  dotted  with  tiny  craft,  the  fleet 
of  fishing-boats  from  the  Islands.  The  green  light 
gleamed  at  the  end  of  the  pier.  On  the  quay,  the 
crowd  gesticulated,  shouted,  and  pointed,  as  the  water 
splashed  under  the  ineffectual  bullets  from  the  carbines 
of  the  police.  The  Chief  of  Pohce  was  there,  giving 
orders.  The  poUce  motor-launch  was  to  be  got  out 
immediately.  The  crowd  set  up  a  cheer;  they  did  not 
know  who  the  offenders  were,  but  they  would  presently 
have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  brought  back  in 
handcuffs. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  entire  Lafarge  dinner- 
party debouched  upon  the  quay,  the  women  wrapped 
in  their  Hght  cloaks,  tremulous  and  excited,  the  men 
affecting  an  amused  superiority.  They  were  joined  by 
the  Chief  of  Police,  and  by  the  Christopoulos,  father 
and  son.  It  was  generally  known,  though  never  openly 
referred  to,  that  the  principal  interest  in  the  casino 
was  held  by  them,  a  fact  which  explained  the  saffron- 
faced  httle  banker's  present  agitation. 


50  CHALLENGE 

'The  authorities  must  make  better  dispositions,'  he 
kept  saying  to  Madame  Lafarge.  'With  this  example 
before  them,  half  the  blackguards  of  the  country-side 
will  be  making  similar  attempts.  It  is  too  absurdly 
easy.' 

He  glared  at  the  Chief  of  Pohce. 

'Better  dispositions,'  he  muttered,  'better  dis- 
positions.' 

'This  shooting  is  ridiculous,'  Alexander  said  im- 
patiently, '  the  boat  is  at  least  three  miles  away.  What 
do  they  hope  to  kill?  a  fish?  Confound  the  dusk. 
How  soon  will  the  launch  be  ready  ? ' 

'It  will  be  round  to  the  steps  at  any  moment  now,' 
said  the  Chief  of  Police,  and  he  gave  an  order  in  an 
irritable  voice  to  his  men,  who  had  continued  to  let 
off  their  carbines  aimlessly  and  spasmodically. 

In  spite  of  his  assurance,  the  launch  did  not  appear. 
The  Englishman  was  heard  discoursing  at  length  to 
Madame  Lafarge,  who,  at  regular  intervals,  fervently 
agreed  with  what  he  had  been  saying,  and  the  Danish 
Excellency  whispered  and  tittered  with  young  Christo- 
poulos.  Social  distinctions  were  sharply  marked  :  the 
diplomatic  party  stood  away  from  the  casual  crowd, 
and  the  casual  crowd  stood  away  from  the  rabble.  Over 
all  the  dusk  deepened,  one  or  two  stars  came  out,  and 
the  little  boat  was  no  longer  distinguishable  from  the 
fishing  fleet  with  its  triangular  sails. 

Finally,  throbbing,  fussing,  important,  the  motor- 
launch  came  churning  to  a  standstill  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps.  The  Chief  of  Police  jumped  in,  Alexander  followed 
him,  promising  that  he  would  come  straight  to  the 
French  Legation  on  his  return  and  tell  them  exactly 
what  had  happened. 

In  the  mirrored  drawing-rooms,  three  hours  later, 
he  made  his  recital.  The  gilt  chairs  were  drawn  round 
in  a  circle,  in  the  middle  of  which  he  stood,  aware  that 


JULIAN  51 

the  Danish  Excellency  was  looking  at  him,  enraptured, 
with  her  prominent  blue  eyes. 

'  Of  course,  in  spite  of  the  start  they  had  had,  we  knew 
that  they  stood  no  chance  against  a  motor-boat,  no 
chance  whatsoever.  They  could  not  hope  to  reach 
Aphros  before  we  overtook  them.  We  felt  quite  confident 
that  it  was  only  a  question  of  minutes.  We  agreed  that 
the  men  must  have  been  mad  to  imagine  that  they 
could  make  good  their  escape  in  that  way.  Sterghiou 
and  I  sat  in  the  stem,  smoking  and  talking.  What 
distressed  us  a  httle  was  that  we  could  no  longer  see 
the  boat  we  were  after,  but  you  know  how  quickly  the 
darkness  comes,  so  we  paid  very  httle  attention  to  that. 

'Presently  we  came  up  with  the  fishing  smacks  from 
Aphros,  and  they  shouted  to  us  to  keep  clear  of  their 
tackle — impudence.  We  shut  off  our  engines  while  we 
made  inquiries  from  them  as  to  the  rowing-boat.  Row- 
ing-boat? they  looked  blank.  They  had  seen  no 
rowing-boat — no  boat  of  any  sort,  other  than  their  own. 
The  word  was  passed,  shouting,  from  boat  to  boat  of 
the  fleet;  no  one  had  seen  a  rowing-boat.  Of  course  they 
were  lying;  how  could  they  not  be  lying?  but  the 
extraordinary  fact  remained' — he  made  an  effective 
pause — 'there  was  no  sign  of  a  rowing-boat  anjrwhere 
on  the  sea.' 

A  movement  of  appreciative  increduhty  produced 
itself  among  his  audience. 

'  Not  a  sign  ! '  Alexander  repeated  luxuriously.  '  The 
sea  lay  all  round  us  without  a  ripple,  and  the  fishing 
smacks,  although  they  were  under  full  sail,  barely 
moved.  It  was  so  still  that  we  could  see  their  reflection 
unbroken  in  the  water.  There  might  have  been  twenty 
of  them,  dotted  about — twenty  crews  of  bland  hars. 
We  were,  I  may  as  well  admit  it,  nonplussed.  What 
can  you  do  when  you  are  surrounded  by  smiling  and 
petticoated    hars,    leaning    against    their    masts,    and 


52  CHALLENGE 

persisting  in  idiotic  blankness  to  all  your  questions? 
Denial,  denial,  was  all  their  stronghold.  They  had  seen 
nothing.  But  they  must  be  bhnd  to  have  seen 
nothing?  They  were  very  sorry,  they  had  seen  nothing 
at  all.  Would  the  gentlemen  look  round  for  themselves, 
they  would  soon  be  satisfied  that  nothing  was  in  sight. 

'As  for  the  idea  that  the  boat  had  reached  Aphros 
in  the  time  at  their  disposal,  it  was  absolutely  out  of 
the  question. 

'I  could  see  that  Sterghiou  was  getting  very  angry; 
I  said  nothing,  but  I  think  he  was  uncomfortable 
beneath  my  silent  criticism.  He  and  his  police  could 
regulate  the  traffic  in  the  rue  Royale,  but  they  could 
not  cope  with  an  emergency  of  this  sort.  From  the 
very  first  moment  they  had  been  at  fault.  And  they 
had  taken  at  least  twenty  minutes  to  get  out  the  motor- 
launch.  Sterghiou  hated  me,  I  feel  sure,  for  having 
accompanied  him  and  seen  his  discomfiture. 

'Anyway,  he  felt  he  must  take  some  sort  of  action,  so 
he  ordered  his  men  to  search  all  the  fishing  smacks  in 
turn.  We  went  the  round,  a  short  throbbing  of  the 
motors,  and  then  silence  as  we  drew  alongside  and  the 
men  went  on  board.  Of  course,  they  found  nothing. 
I  watched  the  faces  of  the  islanders  during  this  inspec- 
tion; they  sat  on  the  sides  of  their  boats,  busy  with 
their  nets,  and  pretending  not  to  notice  the  police  that 
moved  about,  turning  everything  over  in  their  inefficient 
way,  but  I  guessed  their  covert  grins,  and  I  swear  I 
caught  two  of  them  winking  at  one  another.  If  I  had 
told  this  to  Sterghiou,  I  believe  he  would  have  arrested 
them  on  the  spot,  he  was  by  then  in  such  a  state  of 
exasperation,  but  you  can't  arrest  a  man  on  a  wink, 
especially  a  wink  when  darkness  has  very  nearly  come. 

'And  there  the  matter  remains.  We  had  found 
nothing,  and  we  were  obUged  to  turn  round  and  come 
back  again,  leaving  that  infernally  impudent  fleet  of 


JULIAN  53 

smacks  in  possession  of  the  battle-ground.  Oh,  yes, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  they  got  the  best  of  it.  Because, 
naturally,  we  have  them  to  thank.' 

'Have  you  a  theory,  Alexander?'  some  one  asked,  as 
they  were  intended  to  ask. 

Alexander  shrugged. 

'It  is  so  obvious.  A  knife  through  the  bottom  of 
the  boat  would  very  quickly  send  her  to  the  bottom, 
and  a  shirt  and  a  fustanelle  will  very  quickly  transform 
a  respectable  bank-thief  into  an  ordinary  islander. 
"Who  knows  that  the  two  ruflfians  I  saw  winking  were  not 
the  very  men  we  were  after?  A  sufficiently  ingenious 
scheme  altogether — too  ingenious  for  poor  Sterghiou.' 


IV 

These  things  came,  made  their  stir,  passed,  and  were 
forgotten,  leaving  only  a  quickened  ripple  upon  the 
waters  of  Herakleion,  of  which  Julian  Davenant,  under- 
graduate, aged  nineteen,  bordering  upon  twenty,  was 
shortly  made  aware.  He  had  arrived  from  England 
with  no  other  thought  in  his  mind  than  of  his  riding, 
hawking,  and  sailing,  but  found  himself  almost  immedi- 
ately netted  in  a  tangle  of  affairs  of  which,  hitherto,  he 
had  known  only  by  the  dim  though  persistent  echoes 
which  reached  him  through  the  veils  of  his  dehberate 
indifference.  He  found  now  that  his  indifference  was 
to  be  disregarded.  Men  clustered  round  him,  shouting, 
and  tearing  with  irascible  hands  at  his  unsubstantial 
covering.  He  was  no  longer  permitted  to  remain  a  boy. 
The  half-light  of  adolescence  was  peopled  for  him  by 
a  procession  of  figures,  fortunately  distinct  by  virtue 
of  their  life-long  familiarity,  figures  that  urged  and 
upbraided  him,  some  indignant,  some  plaintive,  some 
reproachful,  some  vehement,  some  dissimulating  and 
sly;  many  vociferous,  all  insistent;  a  crowd  of  human 
beings  each  playing  his  separate  hand,  each  the  expounder 
of  his  own  theory,  rooted  in  his  own  conviction;  a 
succession  of  intrigues,  men  who  took  him  by  the  arm, 
and,  leading  him  aside,  discoursed  to  him,  a  strange 
medley  of  names  interlarding  their  discourse  with  con- 
comitant abuse  or  praise;  men  who  flattered  him;  men 
who  sought  merely  his  neutrality,  speaking  of  his 
years  in  tones  of  gentle  disparagement.  Men  who, 
above  all,  would  not  leave  him  alone.  Who,  by 
their  persecution,  even  those  who  urged  his  youth 
as     an     argument     in      favour     of     his    neutrality, 

54 


JULIAN  55 

demonstrated  to  him  that  he  had,  as  a  man,  entered 
the  arena. 

For  his  part,  badgered  and  astonished,  he  took  refuge 
in  a  taciturnity  which  only  tantahsed  his  pursuers  into 
a  more  zealous  aggression.  His  opinions  were  unknown 
in  the  club  where  the  men  set  upon  him  from  the  first 
moment  of  his  appearance.  He  would  sit  with  his  legs 
thrown  over  the  arm  of  a  leather  arm-chair,  loose-hmbed 
and  gray-flannelled,  his  mournful  eyes  staring  out  of 
the  nearest  window,  while  Greek,  diplomat,  or  foreigner 
argued  at  him  with  gesture  and  emphasis.  They 
seemed  to  him,  had  they  but  known,  surprisingly 
unreal  for  all  their  clamour,  pompous  and  yet  in- 
significant. 

His  father  was  aware  of  the  attacks  deUvered  on  his 
son,  but,  saying  nothing,  allowed  the  natural  and  varied 
system  of  education  to  take  its  course.  He  saw  him 
standing,  grave  and  immovable,  in  the  surging  crowd 
of  philosophies  and  nationaUties,  discarding  the  charlatan 
by  some  premature  wisdom,  and  assimilating  the  rare 
crumbs  of  true  worldly  experience.  He  himself  was 
ignorant  of  the  thoughts  passing  in  the  boy's  head.  He 
had  forgotten  the  visionary  tumult  of  nineteen,  when 
the  storm  of  fife  flows  first  over  the  pleasant,  easy  meadows 
of  youth.  Himself  now  a  sober  man,  he  had  forgotten, 
so  completely  that  he  had  ceased  to  beheve  in,  the 
facile  succession  of  convictions,  the  uprooting  of  beliefs, 
the  fanatical  acceptance  of  newly  proffered  creeds.  He 
scarcely  considered,  or  he  might  perhaps  not  so  readily 
have  risked,  the  possible  effect  of  the  queer  systems 
of  diverse  ideals  picked  up,  unconsciously,  and  put 
together  from  the  conversation  of  the  mountebank 
administrators  of  that  tiny  state,  the  melodramatic 
champions  of  the  oppressed  poor,  and  the  professional 
cynicism  of  dago  adventurers.  If,  sometimes,  he  won- 
dered what  Juhan  made  of  the  talk  that  had  become  a 


56  CHALLENGE 

jargon,  he  dismissed  his  uneasiness  with  a  re-afl&rmation 
of  confidence  in  his  impenetrabiUty. 

'Broaden  his  mind,'  he  would  say.  'It  won't  hurt 
him.    It  doesn't  go  deep.    Foam  breaking  upon  a  rock.' 

So  might  Sir  Henry  have  spoken,  to  whom  the  swags 
of  fruit  were  but  the  vintage  of  a  particular  year,  put 
into  a  labelled  bottle. 

Julian  had  gone  more  than  once  out  of  a  boyish 
curiosity  to  hear  the  wrangle  of  the  parties  in  the 
Chamber.  Sitting  up  in  the  gallery,  and  leaning  his 
arms  horizontally  on  the  top  of  the  brass  railing,  he  had 
looked  down  on  the  long  tables  covered  with  red  baize, 
whereon  reposed,  starthngly  white,  a  square  sheet  of 
paper  before  the  seat  of  each  deputy,  and  a  pencil,  care- 
fully sharpened,  alongside.  He  had  seen  the  deputies 
assemble,  correctly  frock-coated,  punctiliously  shaking 
hands  with  one  another,  although  they  had  probably 
spent  the  morning  in  one  another's  company  at  the 
club — the  club  was  the  natural  meeting-place  of  the 
Greeks  and  the  diplomats,  while  the  foreigners,  a  doubt- 
ful lot,  congregated  either  in  the  gambling-rooms  or  in 
the  jardin  anglais  of  the  casino.  He  had  watched  them 
taking  their  places  with  a  good  deal  of  coughing,  throat- 
clearing,  and  a  certain  amount  of  expectoration.  He 
had  seen  the  Premier  come  in  amid  a  general  hushing  of 
voices,  and  take  his  seat  in  the  magisterial  arm-chair 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  behind  an  enormous  ink-pot, 
pulling  up  the  knees  of  his  trousers  and  smoothing  his 
beard  away  from  his  rosy  lips  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
as  he  did  so.  Julian's  attention  had  strayed  from  the 
formalities  attendant  upon  the  opening  of  the  session, 
and  his  eyes  had  wandered  to  the  pictures  hanging  on 
the  walls  :  Aristidi  Patros,  the  first  Premier,  after  the 
secession  from  Greece,  b.  1760,  d.  1831,  Premier  of  the 
Repubhc  of  Herakleion  from  1826  to  1830;  Pericli 
AngheUs,   general,    1774-1847;    Constantine  Stavridis, 


JULIAN  57 

Premier  from  1830  to  1835,  and  again  from  1841  to  1846, 
when  he  died  assassinated.  The  portraits  of  the  other 
Premiers  hung  immediately  below  the  gallery  where 
Julian  could  not  see  them.  At  the  end  of  the  room, 
above  the  doors,  hung  a  long  and  ambitious  painting 
executed  in  1840  and  impregnated  with  the  romanticism 
of  that  age,  representing  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
in  the  platia  of  Herakleion  on  the  i6th  September — kept 
as  an  ever  memorable  and  turbulent  anniversary — 1826. 
The  Premier,  Patros,  occupied  the  foreground,  declaim- 
ing from  a  scroll  of  parchment,  and  portrayed  as  a 
frock-coated  young  man  of  godUke  beauty;  behind  him 
stood  serried  ranks  of  deputies,  and  in  the  left-hand 
comer  a  group  of  peasants,  Hke  an  operatic  chorus, 
tossed  flowers  from  baskets  on  to  the  ground  at  his  feet. 
The  heads  of  women  clustered  at  the  windows  of  the 
famihar  houses  of  the  platia,  beneath  the  fluttering  flags 
with  the  colours  of  the  new  Republic,  orange  and  green. 

Julian  always  thought  that  a  portrait  of  his  grand- 
father, for  twelve  months  President  of  the  collective 
archipelago  of  Hagios  Zacharie,  should  have  been  included 
among  the  notables. 

He  had  tried  to  listen  to  the  debates  which  followed 
upon  the  formal  preliminaries;  to  the  wrangle  of 
opponents;  to  the  clap-trap  patriotism  which  so  thinly 
veiled  the  desire  of  personal  advancement;  to  the 
rodomontade  of  Panaioannou,  Commander-in-Chief  of 
the  army  of  four  hundred  men,  whose  sky-blue  uniform 
and  white  breeches  shone  among  all  the  black  coats  with 
a  resplendency  that  gratified  his  histrionic  vanity;  to 
the  bombastic  eloquence  which  rolled  out  from  the 
luxuriance  of  the  Premier's  beard,  with  a  starthng  and 
deceptive  dignity  in  the  trappings  of  the  ancient  and 
classic  tongue.  Malteios  used  such  long,  such  high- 
sounding  words,  and  struck  his  fist  upon  the  red  baize 
table  with  such  emphatic  energy,  that  it  was  hard  not 

C.  E 


58  CHALLENGE 

to  believe  in  the  authenticity  of  his  persuasion.  Julian 
welcomed  most  the  moments  when,  after  a  debate  of  an 
hour  or  more,  tempers  grew  heated,  and  dignity — that 
is  to  say,  the  pretence  of  the  sobriety  of  the  gathering 
— was  cast  aside  in  childish  petulance. 

'The  fur  flew,'  said  Julian,  who  had  enjoyed  himself. 
'  Christopoulos  called  Panaioannou  a  fire-eater,  and 
Panaioannou  called  Christopoulos  a  money-grubber. 
"Where  would  you  be  without  my  money?"  "Where 
would  you  be  without  my  army?"  "Army  1  can  the 
vahant  general  inform  the  Chamber  how  many  of  his 
troops  collapsed  from  exhaustion  on  the  platia  last 
Independence  Day,  and  had  to  be  removed  to  the 
hospital?"  And  so  on  and  so  forth.  They  became  so 
personal  that  I  expected  the  general  at  any  moment  to 
ask  Christopoulos  how  many  unmarried  daughters  he 
had  at  home.' 

Malteios  himself,  president  of  the  little  repubhc,  most 
plausible  and  empiric  of  pohticians,  was  not  above  the 
discussion  of  current  affairs  with  the  heir  of  the  Davenants 
towards  whom,  it  was  suspected,  the  thoughts  of  the 
islanders  were  already  turning.  The  President  was 
among  those  who  adopted  the  attitude  of  total  dis- 
couragement. The  interference  of  a  headstrong  and  no 
doubt  Quixotic  schoolboy  would  be  troublesome;  might 
become  disastrous.  Having  dined  informally  with  the 
Davenant  brothers  at  their  country  house,  he  crossed 
the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  genial,  a  long  cigar 
protruding  from  his  mouth,  to  the  piano  in  the  corner 
where  Eve  and  Julian  were  turning  over  some  sheets  of 
music. 

'May  an  old  man,'  he  said  with  his  deUberate  but 
nevertheless  charming  suavity,  'intrude  for  a  moment 
upon  the  young  ? ' 

He  sat  down,  removing  his  cigar,  and  discoursed  for 
a  little  upon  the  advantages  of  youth.    He  led  the  talk 


JULIAN  5Q 

to  Julian's  Oxford  career,  and  from  there  to  his  future 
iin  Herakleion. 

*A  knotty  little  problem,  as  you  will  some  day  find 
— not,  I  hope,  for  your  own  sake,  until  a  very  remote 
some  day.  Perhaps  not  until  I  and  my  friend  and 
opponent  Gregori  Stavridis  are  figures  of  the  past,'  he 
said,  puffing  smoke  and  smiling  at  Julian;  'then  perhaps 
you  will  take  your  place  in  Herakleion  and  bring  your 
influence  to  bear  upon  your  very  difficult  and  contrary 
Islands.  Oh,  very  difficult,  I  assure  you,'  he  continued, 
shaking  his  head.  '  I  am  a  conciliatory  man  myself,  and 
not  unkindly,  I  think  I  may  say;  they  would  find 
Gregori  Stavridis  a  harder  taskmaster  than  I.  They  are 
the  oldest  cause  of  dispute,  your  Islands,  between 
Gregori  Stavridis  and  myself.  Now  see,'  he  went  on, 
expanding,  '  they  lie  hke  a  belt  of  neutral  territory,  your 
discontented,  your  so  terribly  and  unreasonably  dis- 
contented Islands,  between  me  and  Stavridis.  We  may 
agree  upon  other  points;  upon  that  point  we  continually 
differ.  He  urges  upon  the  Senate  a  poHcy  of  severity 
with  which  I  cannot  concur.  I  wish  to  compromise,  to 
keep  the  peace,  but  he  is,  alas  !  perpetually  aggressive. 
He  invades  the  neutral  zone,  as  it  were,  from  the  west 
— periodical  forays — and  I  am  obliged  to  invade  it  from 
the  east;  up  till  now  we  have  avoided  clashing  in  the 
centre.'  Malteios,  still  smiHng,  sketched  the  imaginary 
lines  of  his  illustration  on  his  knee  with  the  unhghted 
tip  of  his  cigar.  '  I  would  coax,  and  he  would  force,  the 
islanders  to  content  and  friendHness.' 

Julian  listened,  knowing  well  that  Malteios  and  Stav- 
ridis, opponents  from  an  incorrigible  love  of  opposition 
for  opposition's  sake,  rather  than  from  any  genuine 
diversity  of  conviction,  had  long  since  seized  upon  the 
Islands  as  a  convenient  pretext.  Neither  leader  had 
any  very  definite  conception  of  poUcy  beyond  the  desire, 
respectively,  to  remain  in,  or  to  get  himself  into,  power. 


6o  CHALLENGE 

Between  them  the  unfortunate  Islands,  pulled  like  a  rat 
between  two  terriers,  were  given  ample  cause  for  the 
discontent  of  which  Malteios  complained.  Malteios,  it 
was  true,  adopted  the  more  clement  attitude,  but  for 
this  clemency,  it  was  commonly  said,  the  influence  of 
Anastasia  Kato  was  alone  responsible. 

Through  the  loud  insistent  voices  of  the  men,  Julian 
was  to  remember  in  after  years  the  low  music  of  that 
woman's  voice,  and  to  see,  as  in  a  vignette,  the  picture 
of  himself  in  Kato's  flat  among  the  cushions  of  her 
divan,  looking  again  in  memory  at  the  photographs  and 
ornaments  on  the  shelf  that  ran  all  round  the  four  walls 
of  the  room,  at  the  height  of  the  top  of  a  dado.  These 
ornaments  appeared  to  him  the  apotheosis  of  cos- 
mopolitanism. There  were  small,  square  wooden 
figures  from  Russia,  a  few  inches  high,  and  brightly 
coloured;  white  and  gray  Danish  china;  little  silver 
images  from  Spain;  miniature  plants  of  quartz  and  jade; 
Battersea  snuff-boxes;  photographs  of  an  Austrian 
archduke  in  a  white  uniform  and  a  leopard-skin,  of  a 
Mexican  in  a  wide  sombrero,  mounted  on  a  horse  and 
holding  a  lasso,  of  Mounet-Sully  as  the  blinded  (Edipus. 
Every  available  inch  of  space  in  the  singer's  room  was 
crowded  with  these  and  similar  trophies,  and  the  shelf 
had  been  added  to  take  the  overflow.  Oriental  embroi- 
deries, heavily  silvered,  were  tacked  up  on  the  waUs,  and 
on  them  again  were  plates  and  brackets,  the  latter  carry- 
ing more  ornaments;  high  up  in  one  corner  was  an  ikon, 
and  over  the  doors  hung  open-work  hnen  curtains  from 
the  bazaars  of  Constantinople.  Among  the  many  orna- 
ments the  massive  singer  moved  freely  and  spaciously, 
creating  havoc  as  she  moved,  so  that  Julian's  dominating 
impression  remained  one  of  setting  erect  again  the 
diminutive  objects  she  had  knocked  over.  She  would 
laugh  good-humouredly  at  herself,  and  would  give  him 
unequalled  Turkish  coffee  in  Httle  handleless  cups,  like 


JULIAN  6i 

egg-cups,  off  a  tray  of  beaten  brass  set  on  a  small 
octagonal  table  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl,  and  all  the 
while  she  would  talk  to  him  musically,  earnestly,  bending 
forward,  and  her  restless  fingers  would  turn  the  bangles 
round  and  round  upon  her  arms. 

He  could  not  think  Kato  unreal,  though  many  of  the 
phrases  upon  her  hps  were  the  same  as  he  heard  from 
the  men  in  the  club;  he  could  not  think  her  unreal, 
when  her  voice  broke  over  the  words  'misery'  and 
'oppression,'  and  when  her  eyes  burned  their  conviction 
into  his.  He  began  to  believe  in  the  call  of  the  Islands, 
as  he  Hstened  to  the  soft,  slurring  speech  of  their  people 
in  her  voice,  and  discovered,  hstening  to  her  words  with 
only  half  his  mind,  the  richness  of  the  grapes  in  the 
loose  coils  of  her  dark  hair,  and  the  fulvous  colouring 
of  the  Islands  in  the  copper  draperies  she  always  affected. 
It  seemed  to  Julian  that,  at  whatever  time  of  day  he 
saw  her,  whether  morning,  afternoon,  or  evening,  she 
was  always  wearing  the  same  dress,  but  he  supposed 
vaguely  that  this  could  not  actually  be  so.  Like  his 
father,  he  maintained  her  as  a  woman  of  genuine 
patriotic  ardour,  dissociating  her  from  Herakleion 
and  its  club  and  casino,  and  associating  her  with  the 
Islands  where  injustice  and  suffering,  at  least,  were 
true  things.  He  lavished  his  enthusiasm  upon  her,  and 
his  relations  learned  to  refrain,  in  his  presence,  from 
making  the  usual  obvious  comments  on  her  appearance. 
He  looked  upon  her  flat  as  a  sanctuary  and  a  shrine.  He 
fled  one  day  in  disgust  and  disillusionment  when  the 
Premier  appeared  with  his  ingratiating  smile  in  the 
doorway.  JuMan  had  known,  of  course,  of  the  liaison,  but 
was  none  the  less  distressed  and  nauseated  when  it 
materialised  beneath  his  eyes. 

He  fled  to  nurse  his  soul-sickness  in  the  country, 
l5dng  on  his  back  at  full  length  under  the  ohve-trees  on 
the  lower  slopes  of  Mount  Mylassa,  his  hands  beneath 


62  CHALLENGE 

his  head,  his  horse  moving  near  by  and  snufl&ng  for 
pasture  on  the  bare  terraces.  The  sea,  to-day  of  the 
profoundest  indigo,  sparkled  in  the  sun  below,  and 
between  the  sea  and  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  plainly, 
as  in  an  embossed  map,  stretched  the  strip  of  flat 
cultivated  land  where  he  could  distinguish  first  the  dark 
ilex  avenue,  then  the  ribbon  of  road,  then  the  village, 
finally  the  walled  plantation  which  was  his  uncle's 
garden,  and  the  roofs  of  the  low  house  in  the  centre. 
The  bougainvilla  chmbing  over  the  walls  and  roof  of 
his  uncle's  house  made  a  warm  stain  of  magenta. 

Herakleion  was  hidden  from  sight,  on  the  other  hand, 
by  the  curve  of  the  hill,  but  the  Islands  were  visible 
opposite,  and,  caring  only  for  them,  he  gazed  as  he  had 
done  many  times,  but  now  their  meaning  and  purport 
crj'stallised  in  his  mind  as  never  before.  There  was  some- 
thing symbolical  in  their  detachment  from  the  main- 
land— in  their  clean  remoteness,  their  isolation;  all  the 
difference  between  the  unfettered  ideal  and  the  tethered 
reahty.  An  island  !  land  that  had  shpped  the  leash  of 
continents,  forsworn  sohdarity,  cut  adrift  from  security 
and  prudence  !  One  could  readily  beheve  that  they  made 
part  of  the  divine,  the  universal  discontent,  that  rare 
element,  dynamic,  life-giving,  that  here  and  there  was 
to  be  met  about  the  world,  always  fragmentary,  yet 
always  full  and  illuminating,  even  as  the  fragments  of 
beauty. 

This  was  a  day  which  Juhan  remembered,  marked, 
as  it  were,  with  an  asterisk  in  the  calendar  of  his  mind, 
by  two  notes  which  he  found  awaiting  him  on  his 
return  to  the  house  in  the  platia.  Aristotle  handed  them 
to  him  as  he  dismounted  at  the  door. 

The  first  he  opened  was  from  Eve. 

'I  am  so  angry  with  you,  Julian.  What  have  you  done 
to  my  Kate?     I  found  her  in  tears.     She  says  you  were 


JULIAN  63 

with  her  when  the  Premier  came,  and  that  you  vanished 
■R^ithout  a  word. 

'  I  know  your  sauts  de  gazelle]  you  are  suddenly  bored  or 
annoyed,  and  you  run  away.  Very  naif,  very  charming, 
very  candid,  very  fawn-like — or  is  it,  hideous  suspicion, 
a  pose  ? ' 

He  was  surprised  and  hurt  by  her  taunt.  One  did 
not  wish  to  remain,  so  one  went  away;  it  seemed  to 
him  very  simple. 

The  second  note  was  from  Kato. 

'Julian,  forgive  me,'  it  ran;  'I  did  not  know  he  was 
coming.  Forgive  me.  Send  me  a  message  to  say  when 
I  shall  see  you.  I  did  not  know  he  was  coming.  Forgive 
me.' 

He  read  these  notes  standing  in  the  drawing-room 
with  the  palely-frescoed  walls.  He  looked  up  from 
reading  them,  and  encountered  the  grinning  faces  of  the 
painted  monkeys  and  the  perspective  of  the  romantic 
landscape.  The  colours  were  faint,  and  the  rough  grain 
of  the  plaster  showed  through  in  tiny  lumps.  Why 
should  Kato  apologise  to  him  for  the  unexpected  arrival 
of  her  lover?  It  was  not  his  business.  He  sat  down 
and  wrote  her  a  perfectly  polite  reply  to  say  that  he  had 
nothing  to  forgive  and  had  no  intention  of  criticising 
her  actions.  The  sense  of  unreaUty  was  strong  within 
him. 

It  seemed  that  he  could  not  escape  the  general 
determination  to  involve  him,  on  one  side  or  the  other, 
in  the  local  affairs.  Besides  the  men  at  the  club.  Sharp, 
the  head  clerk  at  the  ofi&ce,  spoke  to  him — 'The  people 
look  to  you,  Mr  Juhan;  better  keep  clear  of  the  Islands 
if  you  don't  want  a  crowd  of  women  hanging  round 
kissing  your  hands;' — ^VassHi,  the  chasseur,  murmured 


64  CHALLENGE 

to  him  in  the  hall  when  he  went  to  dine  at  the  French 
Legation;  Walters,  the  Times  correspondent  in  Herak- 
leion,  winked  to  him  with  a  man  to  man  expression  that 
flattered  the  boy. 

'I  know  the  Balkans  inside  out,  mind  you;  nearly 
lost  my  head  to  the  Bulgars  and  my  property  to  the 
Serbs;  I've  been  held  to  ransom  by  Albanian  brigands, 
and  shot  at  in  the  streets  of  Athens  on  December  the 
second;  I've  had  my  rooms  ransacked  by  the  police, 
and  I  could  have  been  a  rich  man  now  if  I'd  accepted 
half  the  bribes  that  I've  had  offered  me.  So  you  can 
have  my  advice,  if  you  care  to  hear  it,  and  that  is,  hold 
your  tongue  till  you're  sure  you  know  your  own  mind.' 

The  women,  following  the  lead,  chattered  to  him. 
He  had  never  known  such  popularity.  It  was  hard,  at 
times,  to  preserve  his  non-committal  silence,  yet  he 
knew,  ignorant  and  irresolute,  that  therein  lay  his  only 
hope  of  safety.  They  must  not  perceive  that  they  had 
taken  him  unawares,  that  he  was  hopelessly  at  sea  in 
the  mass  of  names,  reminiscences,  and  prophecies  that 
they  showered  upon  him.  They  must  not  suspect  that 
he  reall}'  knew  next  to  nothing  about  the  situation.  .  .  . 

He  felt  his  way  cautiously  and  learnt,  and  felt  his 
strength  growing. 

In  despite  of  Sharp's  warning,  he  went  across  to  the 
Islands,  taking  with  him  Father  Paul :  Eve  exclaimed 
that  he  took  the  priest  solely  from  a  sense  of  the  suita- 
bility of  a  retinue,  and  Juhan,  though  he  denied  the 
charge,  did  not  do  so  very  convincingly.  He  had 
certainly  never  before  felt  the  need  of  a  retinue.  He 
had  always  spent  at  least  a  week  of  his  hohdays  on 
Aphros,  taking  his  favourite  hawk  with  him,  and  Hving 
either  in  his  father's  house  in  the  village,  or  staying 
with  the  peasants.  When  he  returned,  he  was  always 
uncommunicative  as  to  how  he  had  passed  his  time. 

Because  he  felt  the  stirring  of  events  in  the  air,  and 


JULIAN  65 

because  he  knew  from  signs  and  hints  dropped  to  him 
that  his  coming  was  awaited  with  an  excited  expectancy, 
he  chose  to  provide  himself  with  the  dignity  of  an 
attendant.  He  had,  characteristically,  breathed  no 
word  of  his  suspicions,  but  moved  coldly  self-rehant  in 
the  midst  of  his  uncertainties.  Father  Paul  only  thought 
him  more  than  usually  silent  as  he  busied  himself  with 
the  sail  of  his  httle  boat  and  put  out  to  sea  from  the 
pier  of  Herakleion.  Aphros  lay  ahead,  some  seven  or 
eight  miles — a  couple  of  hours'  saihng  in  a  good  breeze. 

His  white  sails  were  observed  some  way  off  by  the 
villagers,  who  by  chance  were  already  assembled  at  the 
weekly  market  in  the  village  square.  They  deserted  the 
pens  and  stalls  to  cluster  round  the  top  of  the  steps 
that  descended,  steep  as  an  upright  ladder,  and  cut  in 
the  face  of  the  rock,  from  the  market  place  straight 
down  to  the  sea,  where  the  white  foam  broke  round  the 
foot  of  the  cUff.  Julian  saw  the  coloured  crowd  from 
his  boat;  he  distinguished  faces  as  he  drew  nearer,  and 
made  out  the  flutter  of  handkerchiefs  from  the  hands  of 
the  women.  The  village  hung  sheerly  over  the  sea,  the 
face  of  the  white  houses  flat  with  the  face  of  the  brown 
rocks,  the  difference  of  colour  alone  betraying  where  the 
one  began  and  the  other  ended,  as  though  some  giant 
carpenter  had  planed  away  all  inequahties  of  surface 
from  the  eaves  down  to  the  washing  water.  The  fleet 
of  fishing-boats,  their  bare,  graceful  masts  swapng  a 
httle  from  the  perpendicular  as  the  boats  ranged  gently 
at  their  moorings  with  the  sigh  of  the  almost  impercep- 
tible waves,  lay  hke  resting  seagulls  in  the  harbour. 

'They  are  waiting  to  welcome  you — feudal,  too 
feudal,'  growled  Father  Paul,  who,  though  himself  the 
creature  and  dependent  of  the  Davenants,  loudly  upheld 
his  democratic  views  for  the  rest  of  mankind. 

'And  why?'  muttered  Juhan.  'This  has  never 
happened  before.    I  have  been  away  only  four  months.' 


66  CHALLENGE 

Three  fishermen  wearing  the  white  kilted  fustanelle 
and  tasselled  shoes  were  ahready  on  the  jetty  with  hands 
outstretched  to  take  his  mooring-rope.  Eager  faces 
looked  down  from  above,  and  a  hum  went  through  the 
little  crowd  as  Julian  sprang  on  to  the  jetty,  the  boat 
rocking  as  his  weight  released  it — a  hum  that  died  slowly, 
hke  the  note  of  an  organ,  fading  harmoniously  into  a 
complete  silence.  Paul  knew  suddenly  that  the  moment 
was  significant.  He  saw  Juhan  hesitate,  faltering  as  it 
were  between  sea  and  land,  his  dark  head  and  broad 
shoulders  framed  in  an  immensity  of  blue,  the  cynosure 
of  the  crowd  above,  still  silent  and  intent  upon  his 
actions.  He  hesitated  until  his  hesitation  became 
apparent  to  aU.  Paul  saw  that  his  hands  were  shut  and 
his  face  stem.  The  silence  of  the  crowd  was  becoming 
oppressive,  when  a  woman's  voice  rang  out  like  a  bell 
in  the  peUucid  air, — 

'  Liberator  ! ' 

Clear,  sudden,  and  resonant,  the  cry  vibrated  and 
hung  upon  echo,  so  that  the  mind  foUowed  it,  when  it 
was  no  more  heard,  round  the  island  coast,  where  it 
ran  up  into  the  rocky  creeks,  and  entered  upon  the 
breeze  into  the  huts  of  goat-herds  on  the  hill.  Juhan 
slowly  raised  his  head  as  at  a  challenge.  He  looked  up 
into  the  furnace  of  eyes  bent  upon  him,  lustrous  eyes 
in  the  glow  of  faces  tanned  to  a  golden  brown,  finding 
in  all  the  same  query,  the  same  expectancy,  the  same 
breathless  and  suspended  confidence.  For  a  long 
moment  he  gazed  up,  and  they  gazed  down,  challenge, 
acceptance,  homage,  loyalty,  devotion,  and  covenant 
passing  unspoken  between  them;  then,  his  hesitation 
a  dead  and  discarded  thing,  he  moved  forward  and  set 
his  foot  firmly  upon  the  lowest  step.  The  silence  of  the 
crowd  was  broken  by  a  single  collective  murmur. 

The  crowd — ^which  consisted  of  perhaps  not  more  than 
fifty  souls,  men  and  women — parted  at  the  top  as  his 


JULIAN  67 

head  and  shoulders  appeared  on  the  level  of  the  market- 
place. Paul  followed,  tripping  over  his  soutane  on  the 
ladder-Uke  stairs.  He  saw  JuHan's  white  shoes  chmbing, 
chmbing  the  flight,  until  the  boy  stood  dehberately  upon 
the  market-place.  A  few  goats  were  penned  up  for  sale 
between  wattled  hurdles,  bleating  for  lost  dams  or  kids; 
a  clothes-stall  displayed  highly-coloured  handkerchiefs, 
boleros  for  the  men,  silk  sashes,  puttees,  tasselled  caps, 
and  kilted  fustanelles;  a  fruit-stall,  hned  with  bright 
blue  paper,  was  stacked  from  floor  to  ceiUng  with 
oranges,  figs,  bunches  of  grapes,  and  scarlet  tomatoes. 
An  old  woman,  under  an  enormous  green  umbreUa,  sat 
hunched  on  the  back  of  a  tiny  gray  donkey. 

Julian  stood,  grave  and  moody,  surveying  the  people 
from  under  lowered  brows.  They  were  waiting  for  him 
to  speak  to  them,  but,  as  a  contrast  to  the  stifled 
volubihty  seething  in  their  own  breasts,  his  stillness, 
unexpected  and  surprising,  impressed  them  more  than 
any  flow  of  eloquence.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
about  them,  though  his  eyes  dwelt  meditatively  on 
their  ranks;  he  seemed  remote,  preoccupied;  faintly 
disdainful,  though  tolerant,  of  the  allegiance  they  had 
already,  mutely,  laid  at  his  feet,  and  were  prepared  to 
offer  him  in  terms  of  emotional  expression.  He  seemed 
content  to  take  this  for  granted.  He  regarded  them  for 
a  space,  then  turned  to  move  in  the  direction  of  his 
father's  house. 

The  people  pressed  forward  after  him,  a  whispering 
and  rustUng  bodyguard,  disconcerted  but  conquered 
and  adoring.  Their  numbers  had  been  increased  since 
the  news  of  his  landing  had  run  through  the  town. 
Fishermen,  and  labourers  from  oHve-grove  and  vine- 
yard, men  whose  Hves  were  lived  in  the  sun,  their 
magnificent  bare  throats  and  arms  glowed  hke  nectarines 
in  the  white  of  the  loose  shirts  they  wore.  Knotted 
handkerchiefs  were  about  theu:  heads,  and  many  of 


68  CHALLENGE 

them  wore  broad  hats  of  rough  straw  over  the  hand- 
kerchief. Ancestrally  more  Italian  than  Greek,  for  the 
original  population  of  the  archipelago  of  Hagios  Zacharie 
had,  centuries  before,  been  swamped  by  the  settlements 
of  colonising  Genoese,  they  resembled  the  peasants  of 
southern  Italy. 

The  headman  of  the  village  walked  with  them, 
Tsantilas  Tsigaridis,  sailor  and  fisherman  since  he  could 
remember,  whose  skin  was  drawn  tightly  over  the  fine 
bony  structure  of  his  face,  and  whose  crisp  white  hair 
escaped  in  two  bunches  over  his  temples  from  under  the 
red  handkerchief  he  wore;  he  was  dressed,  incongru- 
ously enough,  in  a  blue  EngHsh  jersey  which  Mrs 
Davenant  had  given  him,  and  a  coffee-coloured  f ustanelle. 
Behind  the  crowd,  as  though  he  were  shepherding  them, 
Nico  Zapantiotis,  overseer  of  the  Davenant  vineyards, 
walked  with  a  long  pole  in  his  hand,  a  white  sheepdog 
at  his  heels,  and  a  striped  blue  and  white  shirt  fluttering 
round  his  body,  open  at  the  throat,  and  revealing  the 
swelling  depth  of  his  hairy  chest.  Between  these  two 
notables  pressed  the  crowd,  bronzed  and  coloured,  eyes 
eager  and  attentive  and  full  of  fire,  a  gleam  of  silver 
ear-rings  among  the  shiny  black  ringlets.  Bare  feet  and 
heelless  shoes  shuffled  alike  over  the  cobbles. 

At  the  end  of  the  narrow  street,  where  the  children 
ran  out  as  in  the  story  of  the  Pied  Piper  to  join  in  the 
progress,  the  doorway  of  the  Davenant  house  faced  them. 

It  was  raised  on  three  steps  between  two  columns. 
The  monastery  had  been  a  Genoese  building,  but  the 
Greek  influence  was  unmistakable  in  the  columns  and 
the  architrave  over  the  portico.  Julian  strode  forward 
as  though  unconscious  of  his  following.  Paul  became 
anxious.     He  hurried  alongside. 

'You  must  speak  to  these  people,'  he  whispered. 

Julian  mounted  the  steps  and  turned  in  the  dark 
frame  of  the  doorway.     The  people  had  come  to  a 


JULIAN  69 

standstill,  filling  the  narrow  street.  It  was  now  they  who 
looked  up  to  Julian,  and  he  who  looked  down  upon 
them,  considering  them,  still  remote  and  preoccupied, 
conscious  that  here  and  now  the  seed  sown  in  the  club- 
rooms  must  bear  its  fruit,  that  hfe,  grown  impatient 
of  waiting  for  a  summons  he  did  not  give,  had  come  to 
him  of  its  own  accord  and  ordered  him  to  take  the 
choice  of  peace  or  war  within  its  folded  cloak.  If  he  had 
hoped  to  escape  again  to  England  with  a  decision  still 
untaken,  that  hope  was  to  be  deluded.  He  was  being 
forced  and  hustled  out  of  his  childhood  into  the  responsi- 
bilities of  a  man.  He  could  not  plead  the  nebulousness 
of  his  mind;  action  called  to  him,  loud  and  insistent. 
In  vain  he  told  himself,  with  the  frown  deepening  between 
his  brows,  and  the  people  who  watched  him  torn  with 
anxiety  before  that  frown — in  vain  he  told  himself  that 
the  situation  was  fictitious,  theatrical.  He  could  not 
convince  himself  of  this  truth  with  the  fire  of  the  people's 
gaze  directed  upon  him.  He  must  speak  to  them;  they 
were  silent,  expectant,  waiting.  The  words  broke  from 
him  impelled,  as  he  thought,  by  his  terror  of  his  own 
helplessness  and  lack  of  control,  but  to  his  audience 
they  came  as  a  command,  a  threat,  and  an  invita- 
tion. 

'■WTiat  is  it  you  want  of  me?' 

He  stood  on  the  highest  of  the  three  steps,  alone,  the 
back  of  his  head  pressed  against  the  door,  and  a  hand 
on  each  of  the  flanking  columns.  The  black-robed 
priest  had  taken  his  place  below  him,  to  one  side,  on 
the  ground  level.  Julian  felt  a  sudden  resentment 
against  these  waiting  people,  that  had  driven  him  to 
bay,  the  resentment  of  panic  and  isolation,  but  to  them, 
his  attitude  betraying  nothing,  he  appeared  infaUible, 
dominating,  and  inaccessible. 

Tsantilas  Tsigaridis  came  forward  as  spokesman, 
a  gold  ring  hanging  in  the  lobe  of  one  ear,  and  a  heavy 


70  CHALLENGE 

silver  ring  shining  dully  on  the  little  finger  of  his  brown, 
knotted  hand. 

'Kyrie,'  he  said,  'Angheliki  Zapantiotis  has  hailed 
you.  We  are  your  own  people.  By  the  authorities  we 
are  persecuted  as  though  we  were  Bulgars,  we,  their 
brothers  in  blood.  Last  week  a  score  of  police  came  in 
boats  from  Herakleion  and  raided  our  houses  in  search 
of  weapons.  Our  women  ran  screaming  to  the  vine- 
yards. Such  weapons  as  the  pohce  could  find  were  but 
the  pistols  we  carry  for  ornament  on  the  feast-days  of 
church,  and  these  they  removed,  for  the  sake,  as  we 
know,  not  being  blind,  of  the  silver  on  the  locks  which 
they  will  use  to  their  own  advantage.  By  such  persecu- 
tions we  are  harried.  We  may  never  know  when  a  hand 
will  not  descend  on  one  of  our  number,  on  a  charge  of 
sedition  or  conspiracy,  and  he  be  seen  no  more.  We  are  not 
organised  for  resistance.    We  are  bhnd  beasts,  leaderless.' 

A  woman  in  the  crowd  began  to  sob,  burying  her 
face  in  her  scarlet  apron.  A  man  snarled  his  approval 
of  the  spokesman's  words,  and  spat  violently  into  the 
gutter. 

'And  you  demand  of  me? '  said  Juhan,  again  breaking 
his  silence.  'Championship?  leadership?  You  cannot 
say  you  are  unjustly  accused  of  sedition  !  What  report 
of  Aphros  could  I  carry  to  Herakleion?' 

He  saw  the  people  meek,  submissive,  beneath  his 
young  censure,  and  the  knowledge  of  his  power  surged 
through  him  like  a  current  through  water. 

'Kyrie,'  said  the  old  sailor,  reproved,  but  with  the 
same  inflexible  dignity,  'we  know  that  we  are  at  your 
mercy.  But  we  are  your  own  people.  We  have  been 
the  people  of  your  people  for  four  generations.  The 
authorities  have  torn  even  the  painting  of  your  grand- 
father from  the  walls  of  our  assembly  room.  .  .  .' 

'Small  blame  to  them/  thought  Juhan;  'that  shows 
their  good  sense.' 


JULIAN  71 

Tsantilas  pursued, — 

'.  .  .  we  are  left  neither  public  nor  private  liberty. 
We  are  already  half-ruined  by  the  port-dues  which  are 
directed  against  us  islanders  and  us  alone.'  A  crafty 
look  came  into  his  eyes.  'Here,  Kyrie,  you  should  be 
in  sympathy.' 

Julian's  moment  of  panic  had  passed;  he  was  now 
conscious  only  of  his  complete  control.  He  gave  way 
to  the  anger  prompted  by  the  merceuciry  trait  of  the 
Levantine  that  marred  the  man's  natural  and  splendid 
dignity. 

'WTiat  sympathy  I  may  have,'  he  said  loudly,  'is 
bom  of  compassion,  and  not  of  avaricious  interest.' 

He  could  not  have  told  what  instinct  urged  him  to 
rebuke  these  people  to  whose  petition  he  was  decided 
to  yield.  He  observed  that  with  each  fresh  reproof 
they  cringed  the  more. 

'Compassion,  Kyrie,  and  proprietary  benevolence,* 
Tsantilas  rejoined,  recognising  his  mistake.  'We  know 
that  in  you  we  find  a  disinterested  mediator.  We  pray 
to  God  that  we  may  be  allowed  to  hve  at  peace  with 
Herakleion.  We  pray  that  we  may  be  allowed  to  place 
our  difficulties  and  our  sorrows  in  your  hands  for  a 
peaceful  settlement.' 

Juhan  looked  at  him,  majestic  as  an  Arab  and  more 
cunning  than  a  Jew,  and  a  sHghtly  ironical  smile  wavered 
on  his  Hps. 

'Old  brigand,'  he  thought,  'the  last  thing  he  wants 
is  to  live  at  peace  with  Herakleion;  he's  spoiHng  for  a 
stand-up  fight.  Men  on  horses,  himself  at  their  head, 
charging  the  police  down  this  street,  and  defending  our 
house  like  a  beleaguered  fort;  rifles  cracking  from  every 
window,  and  the  more  police  corpses  the  better.  May 
I  be  there  to  see  it ! ' 

His  mind  flew  to  Eve,  whom  he  had  last  seen  lying 
in  a  hammock,  drowsy,  dressed  in  white,  and  breathing 


72  CHALLENGE 

the  scent  of  the  gardenia  she  held  between  her  fingers. 
What  part  would  she,  the  spoilt,  the  exquisite,  play  if 
there  were  to  be  bloodshed  on  Aphros? 

All  this  while  he  was  silent,  scowling  at  the  multitude, 
who  waited  breathless  for  his  next  words. 

'Father  wiU  half  kill  me,'  he  thought. 

At  that  moment  Tsigaridis,  overcome  by  his  anxiety, 
stretched  out  his  hands  towards  him,  surrendering  his 
dignity  in  a  supreme  appeal, — 

'Kyrie?     I  have  spoken.' 

He  dropped  his  hands  to  his  sides,  bowed  his  head, 
and  feU  back  a  pace. 

Julian  pressed  his  shoulders  strongly  against  the 
door;  it  was  soUd  enough.  The  sun,  striking  on  his 
bare  hand,  was  hot.  The  faces  and  necks  and  arms  of 
the  people  below  him  were  made  of  real  flesh  and  blood. 
The  tension,  the  anxiety  in  their  eyes  was  genuine.  He 
chased  away  the  unreahty. 

'You  have  spoken,'  he  said,  'and  I  have 
accepted.' 

The  woman  named  Anghehki  Zapantiotis,  who  had 
hailed  him  as  hberator,  cast  herself  forward  on  to  the 
step  at  his  feet,  as  a  stir  and  a  movement,  that  audibly 
expressed  itself  in  the  shifting  of  feet  and  the  releasing 
of  contained  breaths,  ruffled  through  the  crowd.  He 
Hfted  his  hand  to  enjoin  silence,  and  spoke  with  his 
hand  raised  high  above  the  figure  of  the  woman  crouch- 
ing on  the  step. 

He  told  them  that  there  could  now  be  no 
going  back,  that,  although  the  time  of  waiting  might 
seem  to  them  long  and  weary,  they  must  have  hopeful 
trust  in  him.  He  exacted  from  them  trust,  fidelity,  and 
obedience.  His  voice  rang  sharply  on  the  word,  and 
his  glance  circled  imperiously,  challenging  defiance.  It 
encountered  none.  He  told  them  that  he  would  never 
give  his  sanction  to  violence  save  as  a  last  resort.    He 


JULIAN  73 

became  intoxicated  with  the  unaccustomed  wine  of 
oratory. 

'An  island  is  our  refuge;  we  are  the  garrison  of  a 
natural  fortress,  that  we  can  hold  against  the  assault 
of  our  enemies  from  the  sea.  We  will  never  seek  them 
out,  we  will  be  content  to  wait,  restrained  and  patient, 
until  they  move  with  weapons  in  their  hands  against  us. 
Let  us  swear  that  our  only  guilt  of  aggression  shall  be 
to  preserve  our  coasts  inviolate.' 

A  deep  and  savage  growl  answered  him  as  he  paused. 
He  was  flushed  with  the  spirit  of  adventure,  the  pre- 
rogative of  youth.  The  force  of  youth  moved  so  strongly 
within  him  that  every  man  present  felt  himself  strangely 
ready  and  equipped  for  the  calls  of  the  enterprise.  A 
mysterious  alchemy  had  taken  place.  They,  untutored, 
unorganised,  scarcely  knowing  what  they  wanted,  much 
less  how  to  obtain  it,  had  offered  him  the  formless 
material  of  their  bhnd  and  chaotic  rebellion,  and  he, 
having  blown  upon  it  with  the  fire  of  his  breath,  was 
welding  it  now  to  an  obedient,  tempered  weapon  in  his 
hands.  He  had  taken  control.  He  might  disappear  and 
the  curtains  of  silence  close  together  behind  his  exit; 
Paul,  watching,  knew  that  these  people  would  hence- 
forward wait  patiently,  and  with  confidence,  for  his 
return. 

He  dropped  suddenly  from  his  rhetoric  into  a  lower 
key. 

'In  the  meantime  I  lay  upon  you  a  charge  of  dis- 
cretion. No  one  in  Herakleion  must  get  wind  of  this 
meeting;  Father  Paul  and  I  will  be  silent,  the  rest  lies 
with  you.  Until  you  hear  of  me  again,  I  desire  you  to 
go  peaceably  about  your  ordinary  occupations.' 

'Better  put  that  in,'  he  thought  to  himself. 

'I  know  nothing,  nor  do  I  wish  to  know,'  he  con- 
tinued, shrewdly  examining  their  faces,  'of  the  part 
you  played  in  the  robbery  at  the  casino     I  only  know 

C.  F 


74 


CHALLENGE 


that  I  will  never  countenance  the  repetition  of  any  such 
attempt;  you  will  have  to  choose  between  me  and  your 
brigandage.'  He  suddenly  stamped  his  foot.  'Choose 
now  !    which  is  it  to  be?' 

'Kyrie,  Kyrie,'  said  Tsigaridis,  'you  are  our  only 
hope.' 

'Lift  up  your  hands,'  Julian  said  intolerantly. 

His  eyes  searched  among  the  bronzed  arms  that  rose 
at  his  command  hke  a  forest  of  lances;  he  enjoyed 
forcing  obedience  upon  the  crowd  and  seeing  their 
humihation. 

'Very  well,'  he  said  then,  and  the  hands  sank,  'see 
to  it  that  you  remember  your  promise.  I  have  no  more 
to  say.     Wait,  trust,  and  hope.' 

He  carried  his  hand  to  his  forehead  and  threw  it  out 
before  him  in  a  gesture  of  farewell  and  dismissal. 

He  suspected  himself  of  having  acted  and  spoken  in 
a  theatrical  manner,  but  he  knew  also  that  through  the 
chaos  of  his  mind  an  unextinguishable  light  was  dawning. 


JuiJAJ?  in  the  candour  of  his  inexperience  unquestion- 
Lngly  believed  that  the  story  would  not  reach  Herakleion. 
Before  the  week  was  out,  however,  he  found  himself 
curiously  eyed  in  the  streets,  and  by  the  end  of  the  week, 
going  to  dinner  at  the  French  Legation,  he  was  struck 
by  the  hush  that  fell  as  his  name  was  announced  in  the 
mirrored  drawing-rooms.  Madame  Lafarge  said  to  him 
severely, — 

'Jeune  homme,  vous  avez  ete  tres  indiscret,'  but  a 
smile  lurked  in  her  eyes  beneath  her  severity. 

An  immense  Serbian,  almost  a  giant,  named  Grbits, 
with  a  flat,  Mongohan  face,  loomed  ominously  over  him. 

'Young  man,  you  have  my  sympathy.  You  have 
disquieted  the  Greeks.  You  may  count  at  any  time  upon 
my  friendship.' 

His  fingers  were  enveloped  and  crushed  in  Grbits' 
formidable  handshake. 

The  older  diplomatists  greeted  him  with  cin  assump- 
tion of  censure  that  was  not  seriously  intended  to  veil 
their  tolerant  amusement. 

'Do  you  imagine  that  we  have  nothing  to  do,'  Don 
Rodrigo  Valdez  said  to  him,  '  that  you  set  out  to  enliven 
the  affairs  of  Herakleion?' 

Fru  Thyregod,  the  Danish  Excellency,  took  him  into 
a  comer  and  tapped  him  on  the  arm  with  her  fan  with 
that  half  flirtatious,  half  friendly  famiharity  she  adopted 
towards  all  men. 

'You  are  a  dark  horse,  my  dark  boy,'  she  said  mean- 
ingly, and,  as  he  pretended  ignorance,  raising  his  brows 
and  shaking  his  head,  added, '  I'm  much  indebted  to  you 
as  a  living  proof  of  my  perception.    I  always  told  them; 

75 


76  CHALLENGE 

I  always  said,  "Carl,  that  boy  is  an  adventurer,"  and 
Carl  said,  "Nonsense,  Mabel,  your  head  is  full  of 
romance,"  but  I  said,  "Mark  my  words.  Car],  that  boy 
wiU  flare  up;  he's  quiet  now,  but  you'll  have  to  reckon 
with  him."  ' 

He  realised  the  extent  of  the  gratitude  of  social 
Herakleion.  He  had  provided  a  flavour  which  was 
emphatically  absent  from  the  usual  atmosphere  of  these 
gatherings.  Every  Legation  in  turn,  during  both  the 
summer  and  the  winter  season,  extended  its  hospitality 
to  its  colleagues  with  complete  resignation  as  to  the  lack 
of  all  possibihty  of  the  unforeseen.  The  rules  of  diplomatic 
precedence  rigorously  demanding  a  certain  grouping, 
the  Danish  Excellency,  for  example,  might  sit  before 
her  mirror  fluffing  out  her  already  fluffy  fair  hair  with 
the  complacent  if  not  particularly  pleasurable  certainty 
that  this  evening,  at  the  French  Legation,  she  would 
be  escorted  in  to  dinner  by  the  Roumanian  Minister, 
and  that  on  her  other  hand  would  sit  the  Italian 
CounseUor,  while  to-morrow,  at  the  Spanish  Legation, 
she  would  be  escorted  to  dinner  by  the  Itahan  Counsellor 
and  would  have  upon  her  other  hand  the  Roumanian 
Minister — unless,  indeed,  no  other  Minister's  wife  but 
Madame  Lafarge  was  present,  in  which  case  she  would 
be  placed  on  the  left  hand  of  Don  Rodrigo  Valdez.  She 
would  have  preferred  to  sit  beside  Juhan  Davenant, 
but  he,  of  course,  would  be  placed  amongst  the  young 
men — secretaries,  young  Greeks,  and  what  not — at  the 
end  of  the  table.  These  young  men — 'les  petits  jeunes 
gens  du  bout  de  la  table,'  as  Alexander  Christopoulos, 
including  himself  in  their  number,  contemptuously 
called  them — always  ate  mournfully  through  their 
dinner  without  speaking  to  one  another.  They  did  not 
enjoy  themselves,  nor  did  their  host  or  hostess  enjoy 
having  them  there,  but  it  was  customary  to  invite 
them.  .  .  .     Fru  Thyregod  knew  that  she  must  not 


JULIAN  ^^ 

exhaust  all  her  subjects  of  conversation  with  her  two 
neighbours  this  evening,  but  must  keep  a  provision 
against  the  morrow;  therefore,  true  to  her  little  science, 
she  refrained  from  mentioning  Juhan's  adventure  on 
Aphros  to  the  Roumanian,  and  discoursed  on  it  behind 
her  fan  to  the  Itahan  only.  Other  people  seemed  to  be 
doing  the  same.  Julian  heard  whispers,  and  saw  glances 
directed  towards  him.  Distinctly,  Herakleion  and  its 
hostesses  would  be  grateful  to  him. 

He  felt  slightly  exhilarated.  He  noticed  that  no 
Greeks  were  present,  and  thought  that  they  had  been 
omitted  on  his  account.  He  reflected,  not  without  a 
certain  apprehensive  pleasure,  that  if  this  roomful  knew, 
as  it  evidently  did,  the  story  would  not  be  long  in 
reaching  his  father.  Who  had  betrayed  him  ?  Not  Paul, 
he  was  sure,  nor  Kato,  to  whom  he  had  confided  the 
story.  (Tears  had  come  into  her  eyes,  she  had  clasped 
her  hands,  and  she  had  kissed  him,  to  his  surprise,  on 
his  forehead.)  He  was  glad  on  the  whole  that  he  had 
been  betrayed.  He  had  come  home  in  a  fever  of  exalta- 
tion and  enthusiasm  which  had  rendered  concealment 
both  damping  and  irksome.  Little  incidents,  of  signifi- 
cance to  him  alone,  had  punctuated  his  days  by  reminders 
of  his  incredible,  preposterous,  and  penetrating  secret; 
to-night,  for  instance,  the  chasseur  in  the  hall,  the  big, 
scarlet-coated  chasseur,  an  islander,  had  covertly  kissed 
his  hand.  .  ,  . 

His  father  took  an  unexpected  view.  Julian  had 
been  prepared  for  anger,  in  fact  he  had  the  countering 
phrases  already  in  his  mind  as  he  mounted  the  stairs  of 
the  house  in  the  platia  on  returning  from  the  French 
Legation.  His  father  was  waiting,  a  candle  in  his  hand, 
on  the  landing. 

'I  heard  you  come  in.  I  want  to  ask  you,  Juhan,' 
he  said  at  once,  'whether  the  story  I  have  heard  in  the 
club  to-night  is  true?    That  you  went  to  Aphros,  and 


78  CHALLENGE 

entered  into  heaven  knows  what  absurd  covenant  with 
the  people  ? ' 

Julian  flushed  at  the  reprimanding  tone, 

'I  knew  that  you  would  not  approve,'  he  said.  'But 
one  must  do  something.  Those  miserable,  bullied 
people,  denied  the  right  to  live  .  .  .' 

'Tut,'  said  his  father  impatiently.  'Have  they  really 
taken  you  in?  I  thought  you  had  more  sense.  I  have 
had  a  good  deal  of  trouble  in  explaining  to  Malteios 
that  you  are  only  a  hot-headed  boy,  carried  away  by 
the  excitement  of  the  moment.  You  see,  I  am  trying  to 
make  excuses  for  you,  but  I  am  annoyed,  Julian,  I  am 
annoyed.  I  thought  I  could  trust  you.  Paul,  too. 
However,  you  bring  your  own  punishment  on  your  head, 
for  you  will  have  to  keep  away  from  Herakleion  in  the 
immediate  future.' 

'Keep  away  from  Herakleion?'  cried  Julian. 

'Malteios'  hints  were  unmistakable,'  his  father  said 
dryly.  'I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  dismayed.  You  had 
better  go  to  bed  now,  and  I  will  speak  to  you  to-morrow.' 

Mr  Davenant  started  to  go  upstairs,  but  turned  again, 
and  came  down  the  two  or  three  steps,  still  holding  his 
candle  in  his  hand. 

'Come,'  he  said  in  a  tone  of  remonstrance,  'if  you 
really  take  the  thing  seriously,  look  at  it  at  least  for 
a  moment  with  practical  sense.  What  is  the  grievance 
of  the  Islands  ?  That  they  want  to  be  independent  from 
Herakleion.  If  they  must  belong  to  anybody,  they  say, 
let  them  belong  to  Italy  rather  than  to  Greece  or  to 
Herakleion.  And  why?  Because  they  speak  an  Italian 
rather  than  a  Greek  patois  !  Because  a  lot  of  piratical 
Genoese  settled  in  them  five  hundred  years  ago  !  Well, 
what  do  you  propose  to  do,  my  dear  Julian?  Hand  the 
Islands  over  to  Italy?' 

'They  want  independence,'  Julian  muttered.  'They 
aren't  even  allowed  to  speak  their  own  language,'  he 


JULIAN  79 

continued,  raising  his  voice.  '  You  know  it  is  forbidden 
in  the  schools.  You  know  that  the  port -dues  in  Herak- 
leion  ruin  them — and  are  intended  to  ruin  them.  You 
know  they  are  oppressed  in  every  petty  as  well  as  in 
every  important  way.  You  know  that  if  they  were 
independent  they  wouldn't  trouble  Herakleion.' 

'Independent!  independent!'  said  Mr  Davenant, 
irritable  and  uneasy.  'Still,  you  haven't  told  me 
what  you  proposed  to  do.  Did  you  mean  to  create  a 
revolution  ? ' 

Julian  hesitated.    He  did  not  know.    He  said  boldly, — 

'If  need  be.' 

Mr  Davenant  snorted. 

'Upon  my  word,'  he  cried  sarcastically,  'you  have 
caught  the  emotional  tone  of  Aphros  to  perfection. 
I  suppose  you  saw  yourself  holding  Panaioannou  at 
bay?  If  these  are  your  ideas,  I  shall  certainly  support 
Malteios  in  keeping  you  away.  I  am  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  Malteios,  and  I  cannot  afford  to  allow  your 
Quixotism  to  upset  the  balance.  I  can  obtain  almost 
any  concession  from  Malteios,'  he  added  thoughtfully, 
narrowing  his  eyes  and  rubbing  his  hand  across  his 
chin. 

Julian  watched  his  father  with  distaste  ana  antag- 
onism. 

'And  that  is  all  you  consider?'  he  said  then. 

'What  else  is  there  to  consider? '  Mr  Davenant  replied. 
'  I  am  a  practical  man,  and  practical  men  don't  run  after 
chimeras.  I  hope  I'm  not  more  cynical  than  most. 
You  know  very  well  that  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
I  sjnnpathise  with  the  Islands.  Come,'  he  said,  with  a 
sudden  assumption  of  frankness,  seeing  that  he  was 
creating  an  undesirable  rift  between  himself  and  his  son, 
'I  will  even  admit  to  you,  in  confidence,  that  the 
republic  doesn't  treat  its  Islands  as  well  as  it  might. 
You  know,  too,  that  I  respect  and  admire  Madame  Kato; 


8o  CHALLENGE 

she  comes  from  the  Islands,  and  has  every  right  to  hold 
the  views  of  an  islander.  But  there's  no  reason  why 
you  should  espouse  those  views,  JuHan.  We  are 
foreigners  here,  representatives  of  a  great  family 
business,  and  that  business,  when  all's  said  and  done, 
must  always  remain  our  first  consideration.' 

'Yet  people  here  say,'  Juhan  argued,  still  hoping  for 
the  best  against  the  cold  disillusionment  creeping  over 
him,  'that  no  political  move  can  be  made  without 
allowing  for  your  influence  and  Uncle  Robert's.  And 
my  grandfather,  after  all  .  .  .' 

'Ah,  your  grandfather!'  said  Mr  Davcnant,  'your 
grandfather  was  an  extremely  sagacious  man,  the  real 
founder  of  the  family  tradition,  though  I  wouldn't  like 
Malteios  to  hear  me  say  so.  He  knew  well  enough  that 
in  the  Islands  he  held  a  lever  which  gave  him,  if  he 
chose  to  use  it,  absolute  control  over  Herakleion.  He 
only  used  it  once,  when  he  wanted  something  they 
refused  to  give  him;  they  held  out  against  him  for  a 
year,  but  ultimately  they  came  to  heel.  A  very  sagacious 
man.  ,  .  .  Don't  run  away  with  the  idea  that  he  was 
inspired  by  anything  other  than  a  most  practical  grasp 
— though  I  don't  say  it  wasn't  a  bold  one — a  most 
practical  grasp  of  the  situation.  He  gave  the  politicians 
of  Herakleion  a  lesson  they  haven't  yet  forgotten. 

He  paused,    and,   as  JuHan  said  nothing,  added — 

'We  keep  very  quiet,  your  uncle  Robert  and  I,  but 
Malteios,  and  Stavridis  himself,  know  that  in  reality 
we  hold  them  on  a  rope.  We  give  them  a  lot  of  play, 
but  at  any  moment  we  choose,  we  can  haul  them  in. 
A  very  satisfactory  arrangement.  Tacit  agreements,  to 
my  mind,  are  always  the  most  satisfactory.  And  so  you 
see  that  I  can't  tolerate  your  absurd,  uneducated 
interference.  Why,  there's  no  end  to  the  harm  you 
might  do  !     Some  day  you  will  thank  me.' 

As  JuHan  still  said  nothing,  he  looked  at  his  son,  who 


JULIAN  8i 

was  standing,  staring  at  the  floor,  a  deep  frown  on  his 
forehead,  thunderous,  unconvinced.  Mr  Davenant,  being 
habitually  uncommunicative,  felt  aggrieved  that  his 
explanatory  condescension  had  not  been  received  with 
a  more  attentive  deference.  He  also  felt  uneasy. 
Julian's  silences  were  always  disquieting. 

'You  are  very  young  still,'  he  said,  in  a  more  concili- 
atory tone,  'and  I  ought  perhaps  to  blame  myself  for 
allowing  you  to  go  about  so  freely  in  this  very  unreal 
and  bewildering  place.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have 
expected  you  to  keep  your  head.  Malteios  is  quite 
right  :  Herakleion  is  no  place  for  a  young  man.  Don't 
think  me  hard  in  sending  you  away.  Some  day  you  will 
come  back  with,  I  hope,  a  better  understanding.' 

He  rested  his  hand  kindly  for  a  moment  on  Juhan's 
shoulder,  then  turned  away,  and  the  light  of  his  candle 
died  as  he  passed  the  bend  of  the  stairs. 

On  the  following  evening  Julian,  returning  from  the 
country-house  where  he  had  spent  the  day,  was  told 
that  the  Premier  was  with  Mr  Davenant  and  would  be 
glad  to  see  him. 

He  had  ridden  out  to  the  country,  regardless  of  the 
heat,  turning  instinctively  to  Eve  in  his  strange  and 
rebeUious  frame  of  mind.  For  some  reason  which  he 
did  not  analyse,  he  identified  her  with  Aphros — the 
Aphros  of  romance  and  glamour  to  which  he  so  obsti- 
nately clung.  To  his  surprise  she  listened  unresponsive 
and  sulky. 

'  You  are  not  interested.  Eve  ? ' 

Then  the  reason  of  her  unreasonableness  broke  out. 

'You  have  kept  this  from  me  for  a  whole  week,  and 
you  confide  in  me  now  because  you  know  the  story  is 
pubhc  property.  You  expect  me  to  be  interested. 
Grand  merci ! ' 

'But,  Eve,  I  had  pledged  myself  not  to  tell  a  soul.' 


82  CHALLENGE 

'Did  you  teU  Kato?' 

'  Damn  your  intuition  ! '  he  said  angrily. 

She  lashed  at  him  then,  making  him  feel  guilty, 
miserable,  ridiculous,  though  as  he  sat  scowling  over 
the  sea — they  were  in  their  favourite  place  at  the  bottom 
of  the  garden,  where  under  the  pergola  of  gourds  it  was 
cool  even  at  that  time  of  the  day — he  appeared  to  her 
more  than  usually  unmoved  and  forbidding. 

After  a  long  pause, — 

'Julian,  I  am  sorry. — I  don't  often  apologise. — I  said 
I  was  sorry.' 

He  looked  coldly  at  her  with  his  mournful  eyes,  that, 
green  in  repose,  turned  black  in  anger. 

'Your  vanity  makes  me  ill.' 

'You  told  Kato.' 

'  Jealousy  ! ' 

She  began  to  protest;  then,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
front, — 

'You  know  I  am  jealous.  When  I  am  jealous,  I  He 
awake  all  night.  I  lose  all  sense  of  proportion.  It's  no 
joke,  my  jealousy;  it's  hke  an  open  wound.  I  put 
up  a  stockade  round  it  to  protect  it.  You  are  not 
considerate.' 

'Can  you  never  forget  yourself?  Do  you  care  nothing 
for  the  Islands?  Are  you  so  self-centred,  so  empty- 
headed  ?    Are  all  women,  I  wonder,  as  vain  as  you  ? ' 

They  sat  on  the  parapet,  angry,  inimical,  with  the 
coloured  gourds  hanging  heavily  over  their  heads. 

Far  out  to  sea  the  Islands  lay,  so  pure  and  fair  and 
delicate  that  Julian,  beholding  them,  violently  rejected 
the  idea  that  in  this  possession  of  such  disarming  loveli- 
ness his  grandfather  had  seen  merely  a  lever  for  the 
coercion  of  recalcitrant  pohticians.  They  lay  there  as 
innocent  and  fragile  as  a  lovely  woman  asleep,  veiled  by 
the  haze  of  sunshine  as  the  sleeper's  limbs  by  a  garment 
of  lawn.    Juhan  gazed  till  his  eyes  and  his  heart  swam 


JULIAN  83 

in  the  tenderness  of  passionate  and  protective  ownership. 
He  warmed  towards  his  grandfather,  the  man  whose 
generous  ideals  had  been  so  cynically  libelled  by  the 
succeeding  generation.  No  man  deserving  the  name 
could  be  guilty  of  so  repulsive  an  act  of  prostitution.  .  .  . 

'They  will  see  me  here  again,'  he  exclaimed,  striking 
his  fist  on  the  parapet. 

To  the  startled  question  in  Eve's  eyes  he  vouchsafed 
an  explanation. 

'  Malteios  is  sending  me  away.  But  when  his  term  of 
office  is  over,  I  shall  come  back.  It  will  be  a  good 
opportunity.  We  will  break  with  Herakleion  over  the 
change  of  government.  Kato  will  restrain  Malteios  so 
long  as  he  is  in  power,  I  can  trust  her;  but  I  shall  make 
my  break  with  Stavridis.' 

In  his  plans  for  the  future  he  had  again  forgotten  Eve. 

'  You  are  going  away  ?  ' 

'For  a  year  or  perhaps  longer,'  he  said  gloomily. 

Her  natural  instinct  of  defiant  secrecy  kept  the  flood 
of  protest  back  from  her  lips.  Already  in  her  surprisingly 
definite  philosophy  of  life,  self-concealment  held  a 
sacred  and  imperious  position.  Secrecy — and  her 
secrecy,  because  disguised  under  a  superficial  show  of 
expansiveness,  was  the  more  fundamental,  the  more 
dangerous — secrecy  she  recognised  as  being  both  a 
shield  and  a  weapon.  Therefore,  already  apprehending 
that  existence  in  a  world  of  men  was  a  fight,  a  struggle, 
and  a  pursuit,  she  took  refuge  in  her  citadel.  And, 
being  possessed  of  a  picturesque  imagination,  she 
had  upon  a  certain  solemn  occasion  carried  a  symboUc 
key  to  the  steps  which  led  down  to  the  sea  from  the  end 
of  the  pergola  of  gourds,  and  had  flung  it  out  as  far  as 
she  was  able  into  the  guardianship  of  the  waters. 

She  remembered  this  now  as  she  sat  on  the  parapet 
with  Julian,  and  smiled  to  herself  ironically.  She  looked 
at  him  with  the  eye  of  an  artist,  and  thought  how  his 


84  CHALLENGE 

limbs,  fallen  into  their  natural  grace  of  relaxed  muscu- 
larity, suggested  the  sculptural  ease  of  stone  far  more 
than  the  flat  surfaces  of  canvas.  Sculptural,  she  thought, 
was  undoubtedly  the  adjective  which  thrust  itself  upon 
one.  In  one  of  her  spasmodic  outbursts  of  activity  she 
had  modelled  him,  but,  disdainful  of  her  own  talents, 
had  left  the  clay  to  perish.  Then  she  remembered 
acutely  that  she  would  not  see  him  again. 

'My  mythological  Juhan  .  .  .'  she  murmured,  smiling. 

A  world  of  flattery  lay  in  her  tone. 

'You  odd  httle  thing,'  he  said,  'why  the  adjective?' 

She  made  an  expressive  gesture  with  her  hands. 

'Your  indifference,  your  determination — you're  so 
intractable,  so  contemptuous,  so  hard — and  sometimes 
so  inspired.  You're  so  fatally  well  suited  to  the  Islands. 
Prince  of  Aphros  ? '  she  launched  at  him  insinuatingly. 

She  was  skilful;  he  flushed.  She  was  giving  him  what 
he  had,  half  unconsciously,  sought. 

'Siren  !'  he  said. 

'Am  I?  Perhaps,  after  all,  we  are  both  equally  well 
suited  to  the  Islands,'  she  said  hghtly. 

And  for  some  reason  their  conversation  dropped. 
Yet  it  sufficed  to  send  him,  stimulated,  from  her  side, 
full  of  self-confidence;  he  had  forgotten  that  she  was 
barely  seventeen,  a  child  !  and  for  him  the  smile  of 
pride  in  her  eyes  had  been  the  smile  of  Aphros. 

In  the  house,  on  his  way  through,  he  met  Father  Paul. 

'Everything  is  known,'  said  the  priest,  wringing  his 
hand  with  his  usual  energy. 

'What  am  I  to  do?  Malteios  wants  me  to  leave 
Herakleion.  Shall  I  refuse?  I  am  glad  to  have  met 
you,'  said  Juhan,  'I  was  on  my  way  to  find  you.' 

'Go,  if  Malteios  wants  you  to  go,'  the  priest  replied, 
'the  time  is  not  ripe  yet;  but  are  you  determined,  in 
your  own  mind,  to  throw  in  your  lot  with  Hagios 
Zacharie?     Remember,  I  cautioned  you  when  we  were 


JULIAN  85 

still  on  Aphros  :  you  must  be  prepared  for  a  complete 
estrangement  from  your  family.  You  will  be  running 
with  the  hare,  no  longer  hunting  with  the  hounds.  Have 
you  considered  ? ' 

'I  am  with  the  Islands.' 

'Good,'  said  the  priest,  making  a  sign  over  him.  'Go, 
all  the  same,  if  Malteios  exacts  it;  you  will  be  the  more 
of  a  man  when  you  return.  Malteios'  party  will  surely 
fall  at  the  next  elections.  By  then  we  shall  be  ready, 
and  I  will  see  that  you  are  summoned.  God  bless  you.' 
'Will  you  go  out  to  Eve  in  the  garden,  father?  She 
is  under  the  pergola.     Go  and  talk  to  her.' 

'She  is  unhappy?'  asked  the  priest,  with  a  sharp 
look. 

'A  little,  I  think,'  said  JuUan,  'wiU  you  go?' 
'At  once,  at  once,'  said  Paul,  and  he  went  quickly, 
through  the  grove  of  lemon-trees,  stumbhng  over  his 
soutane.  .  .  . 

Julian  returned  to  Herakleion,  where  he  found  his 
father  and  Malteios  in  the  big  frescoed  drawing-room, 
standing  in  an  embrasure  of  the  windows.  The  Premier's 
face  as  he  turned  was  full  of  tolerant  benignity. 

'Ah,  here  is  our  young  friend,'  he  began  paternally. 
'Wbat  are  these  stories  I  hear  of  you,  young  man? 
I  have  been  telling  your  father  that  when  I  was  a  school- 
boy, a  lyceen — I,  too,  tried  to  meddle  in  poUtics.  Take 
my  advice,  and  keep  clear  of  these  things  till  you  are 
older.  There  are  many  things  for  the  young  :  dancing, 
poetry,  and  love.  PoHtics  to  the  old  and  the  middle- 
aged.  Of  course,  I  know  your  little  escapade  was  nothing 
but  a  joke  .  .  .  high  spirits  .  .  .  natural  mischief  .  .  .' 
The  interview  was  galling  and  humihating  to  Julian; 
he  disliked  the  Premier's  bantering  friendhness,  through 
which  he  was  not  sufficiently  experienced  to  discern 
the  hidden  mistrust,  apprehension,  and  hostihty.  His 
father,  compelled  to  a  secret  and  resentful  pride  in  his 


86  CHALLENGE 

son,  was  conscious  of  these  things.  But  Juhan,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  middle  button  of  the  Premier's  frock-coat, 
sullen  and  rebellious,  tried  to  shut  his  ears  to  the  pro- 
longed murmur  of  urbane  derision.  He  wished  to  look 
down  upon,  to  ignore  Malteios,  the  unreal  man,  and  this 
he  could  not  do  while  he  allowed  those  smooth  and 
skilful  words  to  flow  unresisted  in  their  suave  cruelty 
over  his  soul.  He  shut  his  ears,  and  felt  only  the 
hardening  of  his  determination.  He  would  go;  he 
would  leave  Herakleion,  only  to  return  with  increase 
of  strength  in  the  hour  of  fulfilment. 

Dismissed,  he  set  out  for  Kato's  flat,  hatless,  in  a  mood 
of  thunder.  His  violence  was  not  entirely  genuine,  but 
he  persuaded  himself,  for  he  had  lately  been  with  Eve, 
and  the  plausible  influence  of  Herakleion  was  upon  him. 
He  strode  down  the  street,  aware  that  people  turned  to 
gaze  at  him  as  he  went.  On  the  quay,  the  immense 
Grbits  rose  suddenly  up  from  the  little  green  table  where 
he  sat  drinking  vermouth  outside  a  cafe. 

'My  young  friend,'  he  said,  'they  tell  me  you  are 
leaving  Herakleion? 

'They  are  wise,'  he  boomed.  'You  would  break  their 
toys  if  you  remained.  But  /  remain;  shall  I  watch  for 
you?  You  will  come  back?  I  have  hated  the  Greeks 
well.     Shall  we  play  a  game  with  them  ?    ha  !    ha  I ' 

His  huge  laugh  reverberated  down  the  quay  as  Julian 
passed  on,  looking  at  the  visiting  card  which  the  giant 
had  just  handed  to  him  : — 

SRGJAN  GRBITS. 

Attachd  d  la  Ligation  de  S.M.  le  Roi  des  Serbes, 
Croates,  et  Slovenes. 

'Grbits  my  spy!'  he  was  thinking.  'Fantastic^ 
fantastic' 


JUIIAN  87 

Kato's  flat  was  at  the  top  of  a  four-storied  house  on 
the  quay.  On  the  ground  floor  of  the  house  was  a  cake- 
shop,  and,  hke  every  other  house  along  the  sea-front, 
over  every  window  hung  a  gay,  striped  sunbhnd  that 
billowed  shghtly  like  a  flag  in  the  breeze  from  the  sea. 
Inside  the  cake-shop  a  number  of  Levantines,  dressed 
in  their  hot  black,  were  eating  sweet  things  off  the 
marble  counter.  Julian  could  never  get  Eve  past  the 
cake-shop  when  they  went  to  Kato's  together;  she  would 
always  wander  in  to  eat  choux  a  la  crime,  licking  the 
whipped  cream  off  her  fingers  with  a  guilty  air  until  he 
lent  her  his  handkerchief,  her  own  being  invariably  lost. 

Julian  went  into  the  house  by  a  side-door,  up  the 
steep  narrow  stairs,  the  walls  painted  in  Pompeian 
red  with  a  slate-coloured  dado;  past  the  first  floor, 
where  on  two  frosted  glass  doors  ran  the  inscription ; 
KONINKLIJKE  NEDERLANDSCHE  STOOMBOOT- 
MAATSCHAPPIJ;  past  the  second  floor,  where  a 
brass  plate  said  :  Th.  Mavrudis  et  fils,  Cie.  d'assurance; 
past  the  third  floor,  where  old  Grigoriu,  the  money- 
lender, was  letting  himself  in  by  a  latchkey;  to  the 
fourth  floor,  where  a  woman  in  the  native  dress  of  the 
Islands  admitted  him  to  Kato's  flat. 

The  singer  was  seated  on  one  of  her  low,  carpet- 
covered  divans,  her  throat  and  arms,  as  usual,  bare, 
the  latter  covered  with  innumerable  bangles;  her  knees 
wide  apart  and  a  hand  placed  resolutely  upon  each  knee; 
before  her  stood  Tsigaridis,  the  headman  of  Aphros,  his 
powerful  body  encased  in  the  blue  Enghsh  jersey  Mrs 
Davenant  had  given  him,  and  from  the  compression  of 
which  his  pleated  skirt  sprang  out  so  ridiculously. 
Beside  Kato  on  the  divan  lay  a  basket  of  ripe  figs  which 
he  had  brought  her.  Their  two  massive  figures  dis- 
proportionately filled  the  already  overcrowded  little 
room. 

They  regarded  Julian  gravely. 


88  CHALLENGE 

*I  am  going  away,'  he  said,  standing  still  before  their 

scrutiny,  as  a  pupil  before  his  preceptors. 

Kato  bowed  her  head.  They  knew.  They  had 
discussed  whether  they  should  let  him  go,  and  had 
decided  that  he  might  be  absent  from  Herakleion  until 
the  next  elections. 

'But  you  will  return,  Kyrie?' 

Tsigaridis  spoke  respectfully,  but  with  urgent  authority, 
much  in  the  tone  a  regent  might  adopt  towards  a  youth- 
ful king. 

'Of  course  I  shall  return,'  Julian  answered,  and  smiled 
and  added,  'You  mustn't  lose  faith,  Tsantilas.' 

The  fisherman  bowed  with  that  dignity  he  inherited 
from  unnamed  but  remotely  ascending  generations;  he 
took  his  leave  of  Kato  and  the  boy,  shutting  the  door 
quietly  behind  him.  Kato  came  up  to  Julian,  who  had 
turned  away  and  was  staring  out  of  the  window.  From 
the  height  of  this  fourth  story  one  looked  down  upon 
the  peopled  quay  below,  and  saw  distinctly  the  houses 
upon  the  distant  Islands. 

'You  are  sad,'  she  said. 

She  moved  to  the  piano,  which,  like  herself,  was  a 
great  deal  too  big  for  the  room,  and  which  alone  of  all 
the  pieces  of  furniture  was  not  loaded  with  ornaments. 
Julian  had  often  wondered,  looking  at  the  large  expanse 
of  hd,  how  Kato  had  so  consistently  resisted  the  tempta- 
tion to  put  things  upon  it.  The  most  he  had  ever  seen 
there  was  a  gilt  basket  of  hydrangeas,  tied  with  a  blue 
ribbon,  from  which  hung  the  card  of  the  Premier. 

He  knew  that  within  twenty-four  hours  he  would  be 
at  sea,  and  that  Herakleion  as  he  would  last  have  seen  it 
— from  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  white,  with  many 
coloured  sunblinds,  and,  behind  it.  Mount  Mylassa,  rising 
so  suddenly,  so  threateningly,  seemingly  determined 
to  crowd  the  man-built  town  off  its  narrow  strip  of 
coast  into  the  water — Herakleion,  so  pictured,  would  be 


JULIAN  89 

but  a  memory;  within  a  week,  he  knew,  he  would  be  in 
England.  He  did  not  know  when  he  would  see  Herak- 
leion  again.  Therefore  he  abandoned  himself,  on  this 
last  evening,  to  Aphros,  to  the  memory  of  Eve,  and  to 
romance,  not  naming,  not  hnking  the  three  that  took 
possession  of  and  coloured  all  the  dayhght  of  his  youth, 
but  quiescent,  sitting  on  the  floor,  his  knees  clasped,  and 
approaching  again,  this  time  in  spirit,  the  island  where 
the  foam  broke  round  the  foot  of  the  rocks  and  the 
fleet  of  httle  fishing-boats  swayed  hke  resting  seagulls 
in  the  harbour.  He  scarcely  noticed  that,  all  this  while, 
Kato  was  singing.  She  sang  in  a  very  low  voice,  as 
though  she  were  singing  a  lullaby,  and,  though  the  words 
did  not  reach  his  consciousness,  he  knew  that  the  walls 
of  the  room  had  melted  into  the  warm  and  scented 
freedom  of  the  terraces  on  Aphros  when  the  vintage 
was  at  its  height,  and  when  the  air,  in  the  evening,  was 
heavy  with  the  smell  of  the  grape.  He  felt  Eve's  fingers 
lightly  upon  his  brows.  He  saw  again  her  shadowy  gray 
eyes,  red  mouth,  and  waving  hair.  He  visuahsed  the 
sparkle  that  crept  into  her  eyes — strange  eyes  they 
were  !  deep-set,  slanting  shghtly  upwards,  so  ironical 
sometimes,  and  sometimes  so  inexplicably  sad — when 
she  was  about  to  launch  one  of  her  more  caustic  and  just 
remarks.  How  illuminating  her  remarks  could  be  ! 
they  always  threw  a  new  hght;  but  she  never  insisted 
on  their  value;  on  the  contrary,  she  passed  carelessly 
on  to  something  else.  But  whatever  she  touched,  she 
lit.  .  .  .  One  came  to  her  with  the  expectation  of  being 
stimulated,  perhaps  a  httle  bewildered,  and  one  was  not 
disappointed.  He  recalled  her  so  vividly — yet  recollec- 
tion of  her  could  never  be  really  vivid;  the  construction 
of  her  personality  was  too  subtle,  too  varied;  as  soon  as 
one  had  left  her  one  wanted  to  go  back  to  her,  thinking 
that  this  time,  perhaps,  one  would  succeed  better  in 
seizing  and  imprisoning  the  secret  of  her  elusiveness 
C.  G 


90  CHALLENGE 

Julian  caught  himself  smiling  dreamily  as  he  conjured 
her  up.    He  heard  the  murmur  of  her  seductive  voice, — 

'I  love  you,  Julian,' 

He  accepted  the  words,  which  he  had  heard  often 
from  her  hps,  dreamily  as  part  of  his  last,  dehberate 
evening,  so  losing  himself  in  his  dreams  that  he  almost 
failed  to  notice  when  the  music  died  and  the  notes  of 
Kato's  voice  slid  from  the  recitative  of  her  peasant  songs 
into  conversation  with  himself.  She  left  the  music- 
stool  and  came  towards  him  where  he  sat  on  the  floor. 

'Julian,'  she  said,  looking  down  at  him,  'your  cousin 
Eve,  who  is  full  of  perception,  says  you  are  so  primitive 
that  the  very  furniture  is  irksome  to  you  and  that  you 
dispense  with  it  as  far  as  you  can.  I  know  you  prefer 
the  ground  to  a  sofa.' 

He  became  shy,  as  he  instantly  did  when  the  topic 
of  his  own  personahty  was  introduced.  He  felt  dimly 
that  Eve,  who  remorselessly  dragged  him  from  the  woods 
into  the  glare  of  sunlight,  alone  had  the  privilege.  At 
the  same  time  he  recognised  her  methods  of  appropriating 
a  characteristic,  insignificant  in  itself,  and  of  building 
it  up,  touching  it  with  her  own  peculiar  grace  and  humour 
until  it  became  a  true  and  delicate  attribute,  growing 
into  life  thanks  to  her  christening  of  it;  a  method  truly 
feminine,  exquisitely  complimentary,  carrying  with  it  an 
insinuation  faintly  exciting,  and  creating  a  Hnk  quite 
separately  personal,  an  understanding,  almost  an  obhga- 
tion  to  prove  oneself  true  to  her  conception.  .  ,  . 

'  So  you  are  leaving  us  ? '  said  Kato,  '  you  are  going  to 
live  among  other  standards,  other  influences,  "  dont  je 
ne  connais  point  la  puissance  sur  voire  coeur."  How  soon 
will  it  be  before  you  forget  ?  And  how  soon  before  you 
return?     We  want  you  here,  Juhan.' 

'  For  the  Islands  ? '  he  asked. 

'For  the  Islands,  and  may  I  not  say,'  said  Kato, 
spreading  her  hands  with  a  musical  chnking  of  all  her 


JULIAN  91 

bangles,  '  for  ourselves  also  ?  How  soon  will  it  be  before 
you  forget  the  Islands  ? '  she  forced  herself  to  ask,  and 
then,  relapsing,  '  Which  will  fade  first  in  your  memory, 
I  wonder — the  Islands  ?    or  Kato  ?  ' 

'I  can't  separate  you  in  my  mind,'  he  said,  faintly 
ill  at  ease. 

'  It  is  true  that  we  have  talked  of  them  by  the  hour,' 
she  answered,  'have  we  talked  of  them  so  much  that 
they  and  I  are  entirely  identified?  Do  you  pay  me  the 
compliment  of  denying  me  the  mean  existence  of  an 
ordinary  woman  ? ' 

He  thought  that  by  answering  in  the  affirmative  he 
would  indeed  be  paying  her  the  greatest  comphment 
that  lay  within  his  power,  for  he  would  be  raising  her  to 
the  status  of  a  man  and  a  comrade.     He  said, — 

*I  never  believed,  before  I  met  you,  that  a  woman 
could  devote  herself  so  whole-heartedly  to  her  patriotism. 
We  have  the  Islands  in  common  between  us;  and, 
as  you  know,  the  Islands  mean  more  than  mere  Islands 
to  me  :  a  great  many  things  to  which  I  could  never  give 
a  name.  And  I  am  glad,  yes,  so  glad,  that  our  friendship 
has  been,  in  a  way,  so  impersonal — as  though  I  were  your 
disciple,  and  this  flat  my  secret  school,  from  which  you 
should  one  day  discharge  me,  saying  "Go  !"  ' 

Never  had  he  appeared  to  her  so  hopelessly  inaccessible 
as  now  when  he  laid  his  admiration,  his  almost  religious 
idealisation  of  her  at  her  feet. 

He  went  on, — 

'You  have  been  so  infinitely  good  to  me;  I  have  come 
here  so  often,  I  have  talked  so  much;  I  have  often  felt, 
when  I  went  away,  that  you,  who  were  accustomed  to 
clever  men,  must  naturally  .  .  .' 

'Why  not  say,'  she  interrupted,  'instead  of  "clever 
men,"  "men  of  my  own  age?    my  own  generation"?' 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  checked.  She  was 
standing  over  him,  her  hands  on  her  hips,  and  he  noticed 


92  CHALLENGE 

the  tight  circles  of  fat  round  her  bent  wrists,  and  the 
dimples  in  every  joint  of  her  stumpy  hands. 

'  But  why  apologise  ? '  she  added,  taking  pity  on  his 
embarrassment,  with  a  smile  both  forgiving  and  rueful 
for  the  iU  she  had  brought  upon  herself.  'If  you  have 
enjoyed  our  talks,  be  assured  I  have  enjoyed  them  too. 
For  conversations  to  be  as  successful  as  ours  have  been, 
the  enjoyment  cannot  possibly  be  one-sided.  I  shall 
miss  them  when  you  are  gone.     You  go  to  England  ? ' 

After  a  moment  she  said, — 

'Isn't  it  strange,  when  those  we  know  so  intimately 
in  one  place  travel  away  to  another  place  in  which  we 
have  never  seen  them?  WTiat  do  I,  Kato,  know  of  the 
houses  you  will  live  in  in  England,  or  of  your  EngHsh 
friends?  as  some  poet  speaks,  in  a  line  I  quoted  to  you 
just  now,  of  all  the  influences  dont  je  ne  connais  pas  la 
puissance  sur  voire  coeur !  Perhaps  you  will  even  fall 
in  love.  Perhaps  you  will  tell  this  imaginary  woman 
with  whom  you  are  to  f aU  in  love,  about  our  Islands  ? ' 

'No  woman  but  you  would  understand,'  he  said. 

'She  would  listen  for  your  sake,  and  for  your  sake 
she  woiild  pretend  interest.  Does  Eve  Usten  when  you 
talk  about  the  Islands  ? ' 

'Eve  doesn't  care  about  such  things.  I  sometimes 
think  she  cares  only  about  herself,'  he  replied  with  some 
impatience. 

'You  .  .  .'  she  began  again,  but,  checking  herself, 
she  said  instead,  with  a  grave  irony  that  was  lost  upon 
him,  'You  have  flattered  me  greatly  to-day,  Julian. 
I  hope  you  may  always  find  in  me  a  wise  preceptor. 
But  I  can  only  point  the  way.  The  accomplishment  Hes 
with  you.  We  will  work  together? '  She  added,  smiling, 
'  In  the  realms  of  the  impersonal  ?  A  philosophic  friend- 
ship?    A  Platonic  alliance?' 

When  he  left  her,  she  was  still,  gallantly,  smiling. 


PART   II— EVE 


After  spending  nearly  two  years  in  exile,  Julian  was 

once  more  upon  his  way  to  Herakleion. 

On  deck,  brooding  upon  a  great  coil  of  rope,  his  head 
bare  to  the  winds,  absorbed  and  concentrated,  he 
disregarded  all  his  surroundings  in  favour  of  the  ever 
equi-distant  horizon.  He  seemed  to  be  entranced  by  its 
promise.  He  seemed,  moreover,  to  form  part  of  the 
ship  on  which  he  travelled;  part  of  it,  crouching  as  he 
did  always  at  the  prow,  as  a  figurehead  forms  part; 
part  of  the  adventure,  the  winged  gallantry,  the  eager 
onward  spirit  indissoluble  from  the  voyage  of  a  ship  in 
the  midst  of  waters  from  which  no  land  is  visible.  The 
loneliness — for  there  is  no  lonehness  to  equal  the  loneh- 
ness  of  the  sea — the  strife  of  the  wind,  the  generosity  of 
the  expanse,  the  pure  cleanliness  of  the  nights  and  days, 
met  and  matched  his  mood.  At  moments,  feeling  him- 
self unconquerable,  he  tasted  the  full,  rare,  glory  of  youth 
and  anticipation.  He  did  not  know  which  he  preferred  : 
the  days  full  of  sunlight  on  the  wide  blue  sea,  or  the 
nights  when  the  breeze  was  fresher  against  his  face,  and 
the  road  more  mysterious,  under  a  young  moon  that  Ut 
the  ridges  of  the  waves  and  travelled  slowly  past,  over- 
head, across  the  long  black  Hues  of  cordage  and  rigging. 
He  knew  only  that  he  was  happy  as  he  had  never  been 
happy  in  his  life. 

His  fellow-passengers  had  watched  him  when  he 
joined  the  ship  at  Brindisi,  and  a  murmur  had  run 
amongst  them,  'Julian  Davenant — son  of  those  rich 
Davenants  of  Herakleion,  you  know — great  wine- 
growers— they  own  a  whole  archipelago ' ;  some  one  had 
disseminated  the  information  even  as  Juhan  came  up 

95 


96  CHALLENGE 

thfc  gangway,  in  faded  old  gray  flannels,  hatless,  in  a 
rage  with  his  porter,  who  appeared  to  be  terrified  out  of 
all  proportion.  Then,  suddenly,  he  had  lost  all  interest 
in  his  luggage,  tossed  some  money  to  the  porter,  and, 
walking  for'ard,  had  thrown  himself  down  on  the  heap 
of  ropes  and  stared  straight  in  front  of  him  to  sea, 
straining  his  eyes  forward  to  where  Greece  might  lie. 

From  here  he  had  scarcely  stirred.  The  people  who 
watched  him,  benevolent  and  amused,  thought  him  very 
young.  They  saw  that  he  relieved  the  intensity  of  his 
vigil  with  absurd  and  childhke  games  that  he  played  by 
himself,  hiding  and  springing  out  at  the  sailors,  and 
laughing  immoderately  when  he  had  succeeded  in 
startling  them — he  fraternised  with  the  sailors,  though 
with  no  one  else — or  when  he  saw  somebody  trip  over  a 
ring  in  the  deck.  His  humour,  Hke  his  body,  seemed  to 
be  built  on  large  and  simple  Unes.  ...  In  the  mornings 
he  ran  round  and  round  the  decks  in  rubber-soled  shoes. 
Then  again  he  flung  himself  down  and  continued  with 
unseeing  eyes  to  stare  at  the  curve  of  the  horizon. 

Not  whoUy  by  design,  he  had  remained  absent  from 
Herakleion  for  nearly  two  years.  The  standards  and 
systems  of  Hfe  on  that  remote  and  beautiful  seaboard 
had  not  faded  for  him,  this  time,  with  their  usual 
astonishing  rapidity;  he  had  rather  laid  them  aside 
carefully  and  dehberately,  classified  against  the  hour 
when  he  should  take  them  from  their  v/rappings;  he 
postponed  the  consideration  of  the  mission  which  had 
presented  itself  to  him,  and  crushed  down  the  recollec- 
tion of  what  had  been,  perhaps,  the  most  intoxicating 
of  all  moments — more  intoxicating  even,  because  more 
unexpected,  than  the  insidious  flattery  of  Eve — the 
moment  when  Paul  had  said  to  him  beneath  the 
fragmentary  frescoes  of  the  life  of  Saint  Benedict,  in  a 
surprised  voice,  forced  into  admission, — 

'You  have  the  quality  of  leadership.    You  have  it. 


EVE  97 

You  have  the  secret.    The  people  will  fawn  to  the  hand 
that  chastens.' 

Paul,  his  tutor  and  preceptor,  from  whom  he  had 
first  learnt,  so  imperceptibly  that  he  scarcely  recognised 
the  teaching  as  a  lesson,  of  the  Islands  and  their  problems 
both  human  and  political,  Paul  had  spoken  these  words 
to  him,  renouncing  the  authority  of  the  master,  stepping 
aside  to  admit  the  accession  of  the  pupil.  From  the 
position  of  a  regent,  he  had  abased  himself  to  that  of  a 
Prime  Minister.  JuHan  had  accepted  the  acknowledge- 
ment with  a  momentary  dizziness.  In  later  moments 
of  doubt,  the  words  had  flamed  for  him,  bright  with 
reassurance.  And  then  he  had  banished  them  with  the 
rest.  That  world  of  romance  had  been  replaced  by  the 
world  of  healthy  and  prosaic  things.  The  letters  he 
periodically  received  from  Eve  irritated  him  because  of 
their  reminder  of  an  existence  he  preferred  to  regard, 
for  the  moment,  as  in  abeyance. 

'  And  so  you  are  gone  :  veni,  vidi,  vici.  You  were  well 
started  on  your  career  of  devastation  !  You  hadn't  done 
badly,  all  things  considered.  Herakleion  has  heaved  an 
"Out!"  of  relief.  You,  unimpressionable?  Allans  done! 
You,  apathetic?  You,  placid,  unemotional,  unawakened? 
Tu  te  payes  ma  tete  ! 

'Ah,  the  limitless  ambition  I  have  for  you  1 

'  I  want  you  to  rule,  conquer,  shatter,  demolish. 

'  Haul  down  the  simpering  gods,  the  pampered  gods,  and 
put  yourself  in  their  place.     It  is  in  your  power. 

'Why  not?  You  have  le  feu  sacrd.  Stagnation  is  death, 
death.  Bum  their  temples  with  fire,  and  trample  their 
altars  to  dust.' 

This  letter,  scrawled  in  pencil  on  a  sheet  of  torn 
foolscap,  followed  him  to  England  immediately  after 
his  departure.  Then  a  silence  of  six  months.  Then  he 
read,  written  on  spacious  yellow  writing-paper,  with 


98  CHALLENGE 

the  monogram  E.D.  embossed  in  a  triangle  of  mother- 
of-pearl,  vivid  and  extravagant  as  Eve  herself — 

They  are  trying  to  catch  me,  JuUan  !  I  come  quite 
near,  quite  near,  and  they  hold  very  quiet  their  hand  with 
the  crumbs  in  it.  I  see  the  other  hand  steahng  round  to 
close  upon  me — then  there's  a  flutter— m»  battement  d'ailes 
— I'oiseau  s'esi  de  nouveau  derobe  !  They  remain  gazing 
after  me,  with  their  mouths  wide  open.  They  look  so 
silly.  And  they  haven't  robbed  me  of  one  plume — not  a 
single  plume. 

'  Julian  1  Why  this  mania  for  capture  ?  this  wanting  to 
take  from  me  my  most  treasured  possession — liberty? 
"When  I  want  to  give,  I'll  give  freely — largesse  with  both 
hands,  showers  of  gold  and  flowers  and  precious  stones — 
(don't  say  I'm  not  conceited  !)  but  I'll  never  give  my  liberty, 
and  I'll  never  allow  it  to  be  forced  away  from  me.  I  should 
feel  a  traitor.  I  couldn't  walk  through  a  forest  and  hear 
the  wind  in  the  trees.  I  couldn't  listen  to  music.  (Ah, 
Julian  !  This  afternoon  I  steeped  myself  in  music;  Grieg, 
elf-like,  mischievous,  imaginative,  romantic,  so  Latin  some- 
times in  spite  of  his  Northern  blood.  You  would  love  Grieg, 
Juhan.  In  the  fairyland  of  music,  Grieg  plays  gnome  to 
Debussy's  magician.  .  .  .  Then  "  Khovantchina,"  of  all 
music  the  most  sublime,  the  most  perverse,  the  most 
bariole,  the  most  abandoned,  and  the  most  desolate.) 
I  could  have  no  comradeship  with  a  free  and  inspired 
company.  I  should  have  betrayed  their  secrets,  bartered 
away  their  mysteries  .  .  .' 

He  had  wondered  then  whether  she  were  happy.  He 
had  visuahsed  her,  turbulent,  defiant;  courting  danger 
and  then  childishly  frightened  when  danger  overtook 
her;  dehciously  forthcoming,  inventive,  enthusiastic,  but 
always  at  heart  withdrawn;  she  expressed  herself  truly 
when  she  said  that  the  bird  fluttered  away  from  the 
hand  that  would  have  closed  over  it.     He  knew  that 


EVE  99 

she  lived  constantly,  from  choice,  in  a  storm  of  trouble 
and  excitement.  Yet  he  read  between  the  Hnes  of  her 
letters  a  certain  dissatisfaction,  a  straining  after  some- 
thing as  yet  unattained.  He  knew  that  her  heart  was 
not  in  what  she  described  as  'my  Uttle  round  of  com- 
placent amourettes.' 

The  phrase  had  awoken  him  with  a  smile  of  amuse- 
ment to  the  fact  that  she  was  no  longer  a  child.  He  felt 
some  curiosity  to  see  her  again  under  the  altered  and 
advanced  conditions  of  her  hfe,  yet,  lazy  and  diffident, 
he  shrank  from  the  storm  of  adventure  and  responsi- 
bihty  which  he  knew  would  at  once  assail  him.  The 
indolence  he  felt  sprang  largely  from  the  certainty  that 
he  could,  at  any  moment  of  his  choice,  stretch  out 
his  hand  to  gather  up  again  the  threads  that  he  had 
relinquished.  He  had  surveyed  Herakleion,  that  other 
world,  from  the  distance  and  security  of  England.  He 
had  the  conviction  that  it  awaited  him,  and  this  convic- 
tion bore  with  it  a  strangely  proprietary  sense  in  which 
Eve  was  included.  He  had  listened  with  amusement  and 
tolerance  to  the  accounts  of  her  exploits,  his  sleepy  eyes 
bent  upon  his  informant  with  a  quiet  patience,  as  a  man 
who  hstens  to  a  familiar  recital.  He  had  dwelt  very 
often  upon  the  possibiUty  of  his  return  to  Herakleion, 
but,  without  a  full  or  even  a  partial  knowledge  of  his 
motives,  postponed  it.  Yet  all  the  while  his  hfe  was  a 
service,  a  dedication. 

Then  the  letters  which  he  received  began  to  mention 
the  forthcoming  elections;  a  faint  stir  of  excitement 
pervaded  his  correspondence;  Eve,  detesting  politics, 
made  no  reference,  but  his  father's  rare  notes  betrayed 
an  impatient  and  irritable  anxiety;  the  indications  grew, 
culminating  in  a  darkly  allusive  letter  which,  although 
anonymous,  he  took  to  be  from  Grbits,  and  finally  in 
a  document  which  was  a  triumph  of  illiterate  dignity, 
signed  by  Kato,  Tsigaridis,  Zapantiotis,  and  a  double 


100  CHALLENGE 

column  of  names  that  broke  like  a  flight  of  exotic  birds 
into  the  mellow  enclosure  of  the  Cathedral  garden  where 
it  found  him. 

Conscious  of  his  ripened  and  protracted  strength,  he 
took  ship  for  Greece. 

He  had  sent  no  word  to  announce  his  coming.  A 
sardonic  smile  lifted  one  comer  of  his  mouth  as  he  fore- 
saw the  satisfaction  of  taking  Eve  by  surprise.  A 
standing  joke  between  them  (discovered  and  created,  of 
course,  by  her,  the  inventive)  was  the  invariable  unex- 
pectedness of  his  arrivals.  He  would  find  her  altered, 
grown.  An  unreasoning  fury  possessed  him,  a  jealous 
rage,  not  directed  against  any  human  being,  but  against 
Time  itself,  that  it  should  lay  hands  upon  Eve,  his  Eve, 
during  his  absence;  taking,  as  it  were,  advantage  while 
his  back  was  turned.  And  though  he  had  often  professed 
to  himself  a  lazy  indifference  to  her  devotion  to  him, 
Juhan,  he  found  intolerable  the  thought  that  that 
devotion  might  have  been  transferred  elsewhere.  He 
rose  and  strode  thunderously  down  the  deck,  and  one 
of  his  fellow-travellers,  watching,  whistled  to  himself 
and  thought, — 

'That  boy  has  an  ugly  temper.' 

Then  the  voyage  became  a  dream  to  Julian;  tiny 
islands,  quite  rosy  in  the  sunlight,  stained  the  sea  here 
and  there  only  a  few  miles  distant,  and  along  the  green 
sea  the  ship  drew  a  white,  lacy  wake,  broad  and  straight, 
that  ever  closed  behind  her  hke  an  obliterated  path, 
leaving  the  way  of  retreat  trackless  and  unavailable. 
One  day  he  realised  that  the  long,  mountainous  hue 
which  he  had  taken  for  a  cloud-bank,  was  in  point  of 
fact  the  coast.  That  evening,  a  sailor  told  him,  they 
were  due  to  make  Herakleion.  He  grew  resentful  of  the 
apathy  of  passengers  and  crew.  The  coast-Hne  became 
more  and  more  distinct.     Presently  they  were  passing 


EVE  loi 

Aphros,  and  only  eight  miles  lay  between  the  ship  and 
the  shore.  The  foam  that  gave  it  its  name  was  breaking 
upon  the  rocks  of  the  island.  .  .  . 

After  that  a  gap  occurred  in  his  memory,  and  the 
scene  slipped  suddenly  to  the  big  frescoed  drawing-room 
of  his  father's  house  in  the  platia,  where  the  peace  and 
anticipation  of  his  voyage  were  replaced  by  the  gaiety 
of  voices,  the  blatancy  of  lights,  and  the  strident  energy 
of  three  violins  and  a  piano.  He  had  walked  up  from 
the  pier  after  the  innumerable  delays  of  landing;  it  was 
then  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and  as  he  crossed  the  platia 
and  heard  the  music  coming  from  the  lighted  and  open 
windows  of  his  father's  house,  he  paused  in  the  shadows, 
aware  of  the  life  that  had  gone  on  for  over  a  year  with- 
out him, 

'And  why  is  that  surprising?  I'm  an  astounding 
egotist,'  he  muttered. 

He  was  still  in  his  habitual  gray  flannels,  but  he  would 
not  go  to  his  room  to  change.  He  was  standing  in  Ihe 
doorway  of  the  drawing-room  on  the  first  floor,  smiling 
gently  at  finding  himself  still  unnoticed,  and  looking  for 
Eve.  She  was  sitting  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  between 
two  men,  and  behind  her  the  painted  monkeys  grimaced 
on  the  wall,  swinging  by  hands  and  tails  from  the 
branches  of  the  unconvincing  trees.  He  saw  her  as 
seated  in  the  midst  of  that  ethereal  and  romantic  land- 
scape. 

Skirting  the  walls,  he  made  his  way  round  to  her,  and 
in  the  angle  he  paused,  and  observed  her.  She  was 
unconscious  of  his  presence.  Young  Christopoulos  bent 
towards  her,  and  she  was  smiUng  into  his  eyes.  .  .  . 
In  eighteen  months  she  had  perfected  her  art. 

Julian  drew  nearer,  critically,  possessively,  and 
sarcastically  observing  her  still,  swift  to  grasp  the 
essential  difference.  She,  who  had  been  a  child  when 
he  had  left  her,  was  now  a  woman.    The  strangeness  of 


102  CHALLENGE 

her  face  had  come  to  its  own  in  the  fullness  of  years, 
and  the  provocative  mystery  of  her  person,  that  with- 
held even  more  than  it  betrayed,  now  justified  itself 
likewise.  There  seemed  to  be  a  reason  for  the  red  hps 
and  ironical  eyes  that  had  been  so  incongruous,  so  almost 
offensive,  in  the  face  of  the  child.  An  immense  fan  of 
orange  feathers  drooped  from  her  hand.  Her  hair  waved 
turbulently  round  her  brows,  and  seemed  to  cast  a 
shadow  over  her  eyes. 

He  stood  suddenly  before  her. 

For  an  instant  she  gazed  up  at  him,  her  lips  parted, 
her  breath  arrested.  He  laughed  easily,  pleased  to  have 
bettered  her  at  her  own  game  of  melodrama.  He  saw 
that  she  was  really  at  a  loss,  clutching  at  her  wits,  at 
her  recollection  of  him,  trying  desperately  to  fling  a 
bridge  across  the  gulf  of  those  momentous  months.  She 
floundered  helplessly  in  the  abrupt  renewal  of  their 
relations.  Seeing  this,  he  felt  an  arrogant  exhilaration 
at  the  discomfiture  which  he  had  produced.  She  had 
awoken  in  him,  without  a  word  spoken,  the  tyrannical 
spirit  of  conquest  which  she  induced  in  all  men. 

Then  she  was  saved  by  the  intervention  of  the  room; 
first  by  Christopoulos  shaking  Julian's  hand,  then  by 
dancers  crowding  round  with  exclamations  of  welcome 
and  surprise.  Mr  Davenant  himself  was  brought,  and 
Julian  stood  confused  and  smiling,  but  almost  silent, 
among  the  volubility  of  the  guests.  He  was  providing 
a  sensation  for  lives  greedy  of  sensation.  He  heard 
Madame  Lafarge,  smiling  benevolently  at  him  behind 
her  lorgnon,  say  to  Don  Rodrigo  Valdez, — 

'C'esi  un  original  que  ce  gart^on.' 

They  were  all  there,  futile  and  vociferous.  The  few 
new-comers  were  left  painfully  out  in  the  cold.  They 
were  all  there  :  the  fat  Danish  Excellency,  her  yellow 
hair  fuzzing  round  her  pink  face;  Condesa  Valdez, 
painted  hke  a  courtesan;    Armand,  languid,  with  his 


EVE  103 

magnolia-like  complexion;  Madame  Delahaye,  enter- 
prising and  equivocal;  Julie  Lafarge,  thin  and  brown, 
timidly  smiling;  Panaioannou  in  his  sky-blue  uniform; 
the  four  sisters  Christopoulos,  well  to  the  front.  These, 
and  all  the  others.  He  felt  that,  at  whatever  moment 
during  the  last  eighteen  months  he  had  timed  his  return, 
he  would  have  found  them  just  the  same,  complete,  none 
missing,  the  same  words  upon  their  lips.  He  accepted 
them  now,  since  he  hgid  surrendered  to  Herakleion,  but 
as  for  their  reality  as  human  beings,  with  the  possible 
exceptions  of  Grbits  the  giant,  crashing  his  way  to 
Julian  through  people  Hke  an  elephant  pushing  through 
a  forest,  and  of  the  Persian  Minister,  hovering  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  group  with  the  gentle  smile  still  playing 
round  his  mouth,  they  might  as  well  have  been  cut  out 
of  cardboard.  Eve  had  gone;  he  could  see  her  nowhere. 
Alexander,  presumably,  had  gone  with  her. 

Captured  at  last  by  the  Danish  Excellency,  Julian  had 
a  stream  of  gossip  poured  into  his  ears.  He  had  been 
in  exile  for  so  long,  he  must  be  thirsty  for  news.  A  new 
English  Minister  had  arrived,  but  he  was  said  to  be 
unsociable.  He  had  been  expected  at  the  races  on  the 
previous  Sunday,  but  had  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance. 
Armand  had  had  an  affair  with  Madame  Delahaye.  At 
a  dinner-party  last  week,  Rafaele,  the  Councillor  of  the 
Itahan  Legation,  had  not  been  given  his  proper  place. 
The  Russian  Minister,  who  was  the  doyen  of  the  corps 
diplomatique,  had  promised  to  look  into  the  matter  with 
the  Chef  du  Protocole.  Once  etiquette  was  allowed  to 
become  lax  .  .  .  The  season  had  been  very  gay. 
Comparatively  few  pohtical  troubles.  She  dishked 
pohtical  troubles.  She— confidentially — preferred  per- 
sonalities. But  then  she  was  only  a  woman,  and  foolish. 
She  knew  that  she  was  fooHsh.  But  she  had  a  good 
heart.     She  was  not  clever,  Hke  his  cousin  Eve. 

Eve?    A  note  of  hostility  and  reserve  crept  into  her 


104  CHALLENGE 

expansivencss.  Eve  was,  of  course,  very  charming, 
though  not  beautiful.  She  could  not  be  called  beautiful 
her  mouth  was  too  large  and  too  red.  It  was  almost 
improper  to  have  so  red  a  mouth;  not  quite  comme  il 
faut  in  so  young  a  girl.  Still,  she  was  undeniably 
successful.  Men  liked  to  be  amused,  and  Eve,  when  she 
was  not  sulky,  could  be  very  amusing.  Her  imitations 
were  proverbial  in  Herakleion.  Imitation  was,  however , 
an  unkindly  form  of  entertainment.  It  was  perhaps  a 
pity  that  Eve  was  so  moqueuse.  Nothing  was  sacred  to 
her,  not  even  things  which  were  really  beautiful  and 
touching — patriotism,  or  moonlight,  or  art — even  Greek 
art.  It  was  not  that  she,  Mabel  Thyregod,  disapproved 
of  wit;  she  had  even  some  small  reputation  for  wit 
herself;  no;  but  she  held  that  there  were  certain  subjects 
to  which  the  application  of  wit  was  unsuitable.  Love, 
for  instance.  Love  was  the  most  beautiful,  the  most 
sacred  thing  upon  earth,  yet  Eve — a  child,  a  chit — had 
no  veneration  either  for  love  in  the  abstract  or  for  its 
devotees  in  the  flesh.  She  wasted  the  love  that  was 
offered  her.  She  could  have  no  heart,  no  temperament. 
She  was  perhaps  fortunate.  She,  Mabel  Thyregod,  had 
always  suffered  from  having  too  warm  a  tempera- 
ment. 

A  struggle  ensued  between  them,  Fru  Thyregod  trying 
to  force  the  personal  note,  and  Julian  opposing  himself  to 
its  intrusion.  He  liked  her  too  much  to  respond  to  her 
blatant  advances.  He  wondered,  with  a  brotherly 
interest,  whether  Eve  were  less  crude  in  her  methods. 

The  thought  of  Eve  sent  him  instantly  in  her  pursuit, 
leaving  Fru  Thyregod  very  much  astonished  and  annoyed 
in  the  baU-room.  He  found  Eve  with  a  man  he  did  not 
know  sitting  in  her  father's  business-room.  She  was 
lying  back  in  a  chair,  listless  and  absent-minded,  while 
her  companion  argued  with  vehemence  and  exasperation . 
She  exclaimed, — 


EVE  105 

'Julian  again  !  another  surprise  appearance  1  Have 
you  been  wearing  a  cap  of  invisibility  ? ' 

Seeing  that  her  companion  remained  silent  in  uncer- 
tainty, she  murmured  an  introduction, — 

'Do  you  know  my  cousin  Julian?  Prince  ArdaUon 
Miloradovitch.' 

The  Russian  bowed  with  a  bad  grace,  seeing  that  he 
must  yield  his  place  to  Juhan.  When  he  had  gone, 
unwillingly  tactful  and  full  of  resentment,  she  twitted 
her  cousin, — 

'  Implacable  as  always,  when  you  want  your  own  way  ! 
I  notice  you  have  neither  outgrown  your  tjrannical 
selfishness  nor  left  it  behind  in  England.' 

'I  have  never  seen  that  man  before;    who  is  he?' 

'A  Russian.  Not  unattractive.  I  am  engaged  to  him,' 
she  rephed  negligently. 

'You  are  going  to  marry  him?' 

She  shrugged. 

'Perhaps,  ultimately.     More  probably  not.* 

'And  what  will  he  do  if  you  throw  him  over? '  Julian 
asked  with  a  certain  curiosity. 

'Oh,  he  has  a  fine  je-m  en-fichisme;  he'll  shrug  his 
shoulders,  kiss  the  tips  of  my  fingers,  and  die  gambhng,' 
she  answered. 

When  Eve  said  that,  Juhan  thought  that  he  saw  the 
whole  of  Miloradovitch,  whom  he  did  not  know,  quite 
clearly;    she  had  lit  him  up. 

They  talked  then  of  a  great  many  things,  extraneous 
to  themselves,  but  all  the  while  they  observed  one 
another  narrowly.  She  found  nothing  actually  new  in 
liim,  only  an  immense  development  along  the  old,  care- 
less, impersonal  fines.  In  appearance  he  was  as  untidy 
as  ever;  large,  slack-hmbed,  rough-headed.  He,  how- 
ever, found  much  that  was  new  in  her;  new,  that  is,  to 
his  more  experienced  observation,  but  which,  hitherto, 
in  its  latent  form  had  slept  undiscovered  by  his  boyish 
c.  H 


io6  CHALLENGE 

eyes.  His  roaming  glance  took  in  the  deliberate  poise 
and  provocative  aloofness  of  her  self-possession,  the 
warm  roundness  of  her  throat  and  arms,  the  little 
mouche  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth,  her  little  graceful 
hands,  and  white  skin  that  here  and  there,  in  the 
shadows,  gleamed  faintly  gold,  as  though  a  veneer  of 
amber  had  been  brushed  over  the  white;  the  pervading 
sensuousness  that  glowed  from  her  like  the  actual 
warmth  of  a  slumbering  fire.  He  found  himself  banish- 
ing the  thought  of  Miloradovitch.  .  .  . 

'  Have  you  changed  ? '  he  said  abruptly.  *  Look  at 
me.' 

She  raised  her  eyes,  with  the  assurance  of  one  weU- 
accustomed  to  personal  remarks;  a  slow  smile  crept 
over  her  lips. 

'Well,  your  verdict?' 

'You  are  older,  and  your  hair  is  brushed  back.* 

'Is  that  all?' 

'Do  you  expect  me  to  say  that  you  are  pretty?' 

'Oh,  no,'  she  said,  snapping  her  fingers,  'I  never 
expect  compliments  from  you,  Julian.  On  the  other 
hand,  let  me  pay  you  one.  Your  arrival,  this  evening, 
has  been  a  triumph.  Most  artistic.  Let  me  congratulate 
you.  You  know  of  old  that  I  dislike  being  taken  by 
surprise.' 

'That's  why  I  do  it.' 

'I  know,'  she  said,  with  suddn  humihty,  the 
marvellous  organ  of  her  voice  sinking  surprisingly 
into  the  rich  luxuriance  of  its  most  sombre  contralto. 

He  noted  with  a  fresh  enjoyment  the  deep  tones  that 
broke  like  a  honeyed  caress  upon  his  unaccustomed  ear. 
His  imagination  bore  him  away  upon  a  flight  of  images 
that  left  him  startled  by  their  emphasis  no  less  than 
by  their  fantasy.  A  cloak  of  black  velvet,  he  thought 
to  himself,  as  he  continued  to  gaze  unseeingly  at  her; 
a  dusky  voice,  a  gipsy  among  voices  !  the  purple  ripeness 


EVE  107 

of  a  plum;  the  curve  of  a  Southern  cheek;  the  heart  of 
red  wine.  All  things  seductive  and  insinuating.  It 
matched  her  soft  indolence,  her  exquisite  subtlety,  her 
slow,  ironical  smile. 

'Your  dehcious  vanity,'  he  said  unexpectedly,  and, 
putting  out  his  hand  he  touched  the  hanging  fold  of 
silver  net  which  was  bound  by  a  silver  ribbon  round  one 
of  her  slender  wrists. 


II 

Herakleion.  The  white  town.  The  sun  The 
precipitate  coast,  and  Mount  Mylassa  soaring  into  the 
sky.  The  distant  slope  of  Greece.  The  low  islands  lying 
out  in  the  jewelled  sea.  The  diplomatic  round,  the 
calculations  of  gain,  the  continuous  and  plaintive  music 
of  the  Islands,  the  dream  of  rescue,  the  ardent  champion- 
ship of  the  feebler  cause,  the  strife  against  wealth  and 
authority.  The  whole  fabric  of  youth  .  ,  .  These  were 
the  things  abruptly  rediscovered  and  renewed. 

The  elections  were  to  take  place  within  four  days  of 
Julian's  arrival.  Father  Paul,  no  doubt,  could  add  to 
the  store  of  information  Kato  had  already  given  him. 
But  Father  Paul  was  not  to  be  found  in  the  Httle  tavern 
he  kept  in  the  untidy  village  close  to  the  gates  of  the 
Davenants'  country  house.  Julian  reined  up  before  it, 
reading  the  familiar  name,  Xenodochion  Olympos, 
above  the  door,  and  calling  out  to  the  men  who  were 
playing  bowls  along  the  httle  gravelled  bowhng  alley 
to  know  where  he  might  find  the  priest.  They  could  not 
tell  him,  nor  could  the  old  islander  Tsigaridis,  who  sat 
near  the  door,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  dribbling  between 
his  fingers  the  beads  of  a  bright  green  rosary. 

'The  papa  is  often  absent  from  us,'  added  Tsigaridis, 
and  Juhan  caught  the  grave  inflection  of  criticism  in  his 
tone. 

The  somnolent  heat  of  the  September  afternoon  lay 
over  the  squalid  dusty  village;  in  the  whole  length  of  its 
street  no  hfe  stirred;  the  dogs  slept;  the  pale  pink  and 
blue  houses  were  closely  shuttered,  with  an  effect  of 
flatness  and  desertion.  Against  the  pink  front  of  the 
tavern  splashed  the  shadows  of  a  great  fig-tree,  and 

1 08 


EVE  109 

upon  its  threshold,  but  on  one  side  the  tree  had  been 
cut  back  to  prevent  any  shadows  from  falUng  across  the 
bowhng-alley.  Julian  rode  on,  enervated  by  the  too 
intense  heat  and  the  glare,  and,  giving  up  his  horse  at 
his  uncle's  stables,  wandered  in  the  shade  under  the 
pergola  of  gourds  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden. 

He  saw  Father  Paul  coming  towards  him  across  the 
grass  between  the  lemon-trees;  the  priest  walked  slowly, 
his  head  bent,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  a  spare 
black  figure  among  the  golden  fruit.  So  lean,  so  lank 
he  appeared,  his  natural  height  accentuated  by  his 
square  black  cap;  so  sallow  his  bony  face  in  contrast  to 
his  stringy  red  hair.  Julian  hkened  him  to  a  long  note 
of  exclamation.  He  advanced  unaware  of  Julian's 
presence,  walking  as  though  every  shuffling  step  of  his 
fiat,  broad-toed  shoes  were  an  accompaniment  to  some 
laborious  and  completed  thought. 

'Perhaps,'  JuUan  reflected,  watching  him,  'by 
the  time  he  reaches  me  he'll  have  arrived  at  his 
decision.' 

He  speculated  amusedly  as  to  the  priest's  difficulties  : 
an  insurgent  member  of  the  flock?  a  necessary  repair 
to  the  church?  Nothing,  nothing  outside  Herakleion. 
A  tiny  hfe  !  A  priest,  a  man  who  had  forsworn  man's 
birthright.  The  visible  in  exchange  for  the  invisible 
world.  A  hfe  concentrated  and  intense;  tight-handed, 
a  round  little  ball  of  a  hfe.  No  range,  no  freedom. 
Village  hfe  under  a  microscope;  familiar  faces  and 
famihar  souls.  Julian  seemed  to  focus  suddenly  the  rays 
of  the  whole  world  into  a  spot  of  hght  which  was  the 
village,  and  over  which  the  priest's  thin  face  was  bent 
poring  with  a  close,  a  strained  expression  of  absorption, 
so  that  his  benevolent  purpose  became  almost  a  force  of 
evil,  prjnng  and  inquisitive,  and  from  which  the  souls 
under  his  charge  strove  to  writhe  away  in  vain.  To 
break  the  image,  he  called  out  aloud, — 


no  CHALLENGE 

'You  were  very  deeply  immersed  in  your  thoughts, 
father  ? ' 

'Yes,  yes,'  Paul  muttered.  He  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief to  pass  it  over  his  face,  which  Juhan  now  saw 
with  surprise  was  touched  into  high  hghts  by  a  thin 
perspiration. 

'Is  anything  wrong?'  he  asked. 

'Nothing  wrong.  Your  father  is  very  generous,'  the 
priest  added  irrelevantly. 

Julian,  still  under  the  spell,  inquired  as  to  his  father's 
generosity. 

'  He  has  promised  me  a  new  iconostase,'  said  Paul,  but 
he  spoke  from  an  immense  distance,  vagueness  in  his 
eyes,  and  with  a  trained,  obedient  tongue.  'The  old 
iconostase  is  in  a  disgraceful  state  of  dilapidation,'  he 
continued,  with  a  new,  uncanny  energy;  'when  we 
cleaned  out  the  panels  we  found  them  hung  with  bats 
at  the  back,  and  not  only  bats,  but,  do  you  know,  Juhan, 
the  mice  had  nested  there;  the  mice  are  a  terrible 
plague  in  the  church.  I  am  obliged  to  keep  the  con- 
secrated bread  in  a  biscuit  tin,  and  I  do  not  hke  doing 
that;  I  like  to  keep  it  covered  over  with  a  linen  cloth; 
but  no,  I  cannot,  all  on  account  of  the  mice.  I  have  set 
traps,  and  I  had  got  a  cat,  but  since  she  caught  her  foot 
in  one  of  the  traps  she  has  gone  away.  I  am  having  great 
trouble,  great  trouble  with  the  mice.' 

'I  know,'  said  Julian,  'I  used  to  have  mice  in  my 
rooms  at  Oxford.' 

'  A  plague  ! '  cried  Paul,  still  fiercely  energetic,  but 
utterly  remote.  'One  would  wonder,  if  one  were 
permitted  to  wonder,  why  He  saw  fit  to  create  mice. 
I  never  caught  any  in  my  traps  ;  only  the  cat's  foot. 
And  the  boy  who  cleans  the  church  ate  the  cheese.  I 
have  been  very  imfortunate — very  unfortunate  with 
the  mice,'  he  added. 

Would  they  never  succeed  in  getting  away  from  the 


EVE  III 

topic?  The  garden  was  populated  with  mice,  quick 
little  gray  objects  darting  across  the  path.  And  Paul, 
who  continued  to  talk  vehemently,  with  strange,  abrupt 
gestures,  was  not  really  there  at  all. 

'Nearly  two  years  since  you  have  been  away,'  he  was 
saying.  '  I  expect  you  have  seen  a  great  deal;  forgotten 
all  about  Paul?  How  do  you  find  your  father?  Many 
people  have  died  in  the  village;  that  was  to  be  expected. 
I  have  been  kept  busy,  funerals  and  christenings.  I  hke 
a  full  hfe.  And  then  I  have  the  constant  preoccupation 
of  the  church;  the  church,  yes.  I  have  been  terribly 
concerned  about  the  iconostase.  I  have  blamed  myself 
bitterly  for  my  negligence.  That,  of  course,  was  all  due 
to  the  mice.  A  man  was  drowned  off  these  rocks  last 
week;  a  stranger.  They  say  he  had  been  losing  in  the 
casino.  I  have  been  into  Herakleion  once  or  twice, 
since  you  have  been  away.  But  it  is  too  noisy.  The 
trams,  and  the  glare  ...  It  would  not  seem  noisy  to 
you.  You  no  doubt  welcome  the  music  of  the  world. 
You  are  young,  and  life  for  you  contains  no  problems. 
But  I  am  very  happy;  I  should  not  hke  you  to  think  I 
was  not  perfectly  happy.  Your  father  and  your  uncle 
are  peculiarly  considerate  and  generous  men.  Your 
uncle  has  promised  to  pay  for  the  installation  of 
the  new  iconostase  and  the  removal  of  the  old 
one.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that.  Completely  perished, 
some  of  the  panels  .  .  .  And  your  aunt,  a  wonderful 
woman.' 

Juhan  hstened  in  amazement.  The  priest  talked  like 
a  wound-up  and  crazy  machine,  and  all  the  while  Juhan 
was  convinced  that  he  did  not  know  a  word  he  was 
saying.  He  had  once  been  grave,  earnest,  scholarly, 
even  wise  .  .  .  He  kept  taking  off  and  putting  on  his 
cap,  to  the  wild  disordering  of  his  long  hair. 

'He's  gone  mad,'  Julian  thought  in  dismay. 

Juhan  despaired  of  strugghng  out  of  the  quicksands 


112  CHALLENGE 

that  sucked  at  their  feet.  He  thought  desperately  that 
if  the  priest  would  come  back,  would  recall  his  spirit 
to  take  control  of  his  wits,  all  might  be  well.  The  tongue 
was  babbling  in  an  empty  body  while  the  spirit  journeyed 
in  unknown  fields,  finding  there  what  excruciating 
torment  ?  WHio  could  tell !  For  the  man  was  sufferinjj, 
that  was  clear;  he  had  been  suffering  as  he  walked  across 
the  grass,  but  he  had  suffered  then  in  controlled  silence, 
spirit  and  mind  close-locked  and  allied  in  the  taut  effort 
of  endurance;  now,  their  alliance  shattered  by  the  sound 
of  a  human  voice,  the  spirit  had  fled,  sweeping  with  it 
the  furies  of  agony,  and  leaving  the  mind  bereaved, 
chattering  emptily,  noisily,  in  the  attempt  at  conceal- 
ment.  He,  Julian,  was  responsible  for  this  revelation 
of  the  existence  of  an  unguessed  secret.  He  must  repair 
the  damage  he  had  done. 

'  Father  ! '  he  said,  interrupting,  and  he  took  the  priest 
strongly  by  the  wrist. 

Their  eyes  met. 

'  Father  ! '  Julian  said  again.  He  held  the  wrist  with 
the  tensest  effort  of  his  fingers,  and  the  eyes  with  the 
tensest  effort  of  his  will.  He  saw  the  accentuated  cavities 
of  the  priest's  thin  face,  and  the  pinched  fines  of  suffering 
at  the  corners  of  the  mouth.  Paul  had  been  strong, 
energetic,  masculine.  Now  his  speech  was  random,  and 
he  quavered  as  a  palsied  old  man.  Even  his  personal 
cleanliness  had,  in  a  measure,  deserted  him;  his  soutane 
was  stained,  his  hair  lank  and  greasy.  He  confronted 
Julian  with  a  scared  and  piteous  cowardice,  compelled, 
yet  seeking  escape,  then  as  he  slowly  steadied  himself 
under  Julian's  grip  the  succeeding  emotions  were  reflected 
in  his  eyes  :  first  shame;  then  a  horrified  grasping  after 
his  self-respect;  finally,  most  touching  of  all,  confidence 
and  gratitude;  and  Julian,  seeing  the  cycle  completed 
and  knowing  that  Paul  was  again  master  of  himself, 
released  the  wrist  and  asked,  in  the  most  casual  voice 


EVE  113 

at  his  command,  'All  right?'  He  had  the  sensation  ol 
having  saved  some  one  from  falling. 

Paul  nodded  without  speaking.  Then  he  began  to 
ask  Juhan  as  to  how  he  had  employed  the  last  eighteen 
months,  and  they  talked  for  some  time  without  reference 
to  the  unaccountable  scene  that  had  passed  between 
them.  Paul  talked  with  his  wonted  gentleness  and 
interest,  the  strangeness  of  his  manner  entirely  vanished; 
Julian  could  have  believed  it  a  hallucination,  but  for  the 
single  trace  left  in  the  priest's  disordered  hair.  Red 
strands  hung  abjectly  down  his  back.  Juhan  found  his 
eyes  drawn  towards  them  in  a  horrible  fascination,  but, 
because  he  knew  the  scene  must  be  buried  unless  Paul 
himself  chose  to  revive  it,  he  kept  his  glance  turned  away 
with  conscious  deliberation. 

He  was  relieved  when  the  priest  left  him. 

'Gone  to  do  his  hair' — the  phrase  came  to  his  mind 
as  he  saw  the  priest  walk  briskly  away,  tripping  with 
the  old  famiHar  stumble  over  his  soutane,  and  saw  the 
long  wisps  faintly  red  on  the  black  garment.  'Like 
a  woman — exactly  ! '  he  uttered  in  revolt,  clenching  his 
hand  at  man's  degradation.  '  Like  a  woman,  long  hair, 
long  skirt;  ready  to  listen  to  other  people's  troubles.  Un- 
natural existence;  unnatural?  it's  unnatural  to  the  point 
of  viciousness.    No  wonder  the  man's  mind  is  unhinged.' 

He  was  really  troubled  about  his  friend,  the  more  so 
that  loyalty  would  keep  him  silent  and  allow  him  to  ask 
no  questions.  He  thought,  however,  that  if  Eve  volun- 
teered any  remarks  about  Paul  it  would  not  be  disloyal 
to  hsten.  The  afternoon  was  hot  and  still;  Eve  would 
be  indoors.  The  traditions  of  his  English  life  stiU  clung 
to  him  sufficiently  to  make  him  chafe  vaguely  against 
the  idleness  of  the  days;  he  resented  the  concession  to 
the  chmate.  A  demoralising  place.  A  place  where 
priests  let  their  hair  grow  long,  and  went  temporarily 
mad  .  .  . 


114  CHALLENGE 

He  walked  in  the  patchy  shade  of  the  lemon-trees 
towards  the  house  in  a  distressed  and  irascible  frame  of 
mind.  He  longed  for  action;  his  mind  was  never 
content  to  dwell  long  unoccupied.  He  longed  for  the 
strife  the  elections  would  bring.  The  house  glared  very 
white,  and  all  the  green  shutters  were  closed;  behind 
them,  he  knew,  the  windows  would  be  closed  too. 
Another  contradiction.  In  England,  when  one  wanted 
to  keep  a  house  cool,  one  opened  the  windows  wide. 

He  crossed  the  veranda;  the  drawing-room  was  dim 
and  empty.  How  absurd  to  paint  sham  flames  on  the 
ceihng  in  a  chmate  where  the  last  thing  one  wanted  to 
remember  was  lire.     He  called, — 

'  Eve  ! ' 

Silence  answered  him.  A  book  lying  on  the  floor  by 
the  writing-table  showed  him  that  she  had  been  in  the 
room;  no  one  else  in  that  house  would  read  Albert 
Samain.     He  picked  it  up  and  read  disgustedly, — 

* .  .  .  Des  roses  !    des  roses  encore  I 
Je  les  adore  a  la  souffrance. 
Elles  ont  la  sombre  attirance 
Des  choses  qui  donnent  la  mort.' 

'Nauseating!'  he  cried,  flinging  the  book  from  him. 

Certainly  the  book  was  Eve's.  Certainly  she  had  been 
in  the  room,  for  no  one  else  would  or  could  have  drawn 
that  mask  of  a  faun  on  the  blotting  paper.  He  looked 
at  it  carelessly,  then  with  admiration;  what  malicious 
humour  she  had  put  into  those  squinting  eyes,  that 
slanting  mouth  !  He  turned  the  blotting  paper  idly — 
how  like  Eve  to  draw  on  the  blotting  paper  ! — and  came 
on  other  drawings  :  a  demon,  a  fantastic  castle,  a  half- 
obliterated  sketch  of  himself.  Once  he  found  his  name, 
in  elaborate  architectural  lettering,  repeated  all  over 
the  page.     Then  he  found  a  letter  of  which  the  three 


EVE  115 

first  words  :  '  Eternal,  exasperating  Eve  ! '  and  the  last 
sentence,  * .  .  .  votre  r^veil  qui  doit  etre  charmant  dans 
le  d^sordre  fantaisiste  de  votre  chambre,'  made  hini  shut 
the  blotter  in  a  scurry  of  discretion. 

Here  were  all  the  vivid  traces  of  her  passage,  but 
where  was  she?  LoneUness  and  the  lack  of  occupation 
oppressed  him.  He  lounged  away  from  the  writing- 
table,  out  into  the  wide  passage  which  ran  all  round  the 
central  court.  He  paused  there,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  called  again, — 

'Evel' 

'  Eve  ! '  the  echoing  passage  answered  startHngly. 

Presently  another  more  tangible  voice  came  to  him  as 
he  stood  staring  disconsolately  through  the  windows 
into  the  court. 

'  Were  you  calling  Mith  Eve,  Mathter  Juhan  ?  The'th 
rethting.     ThaU  I  teU  her?' 

He  was  pleased  to  see  Nana,  fat,  stayless,  sHpshod, 
slovenly,  benevolent.  He  kissed  her,  and  told  her  she 
was  fatter  than  ever. 

'Glad  I've  come  back,  Nannie?' 

'Why,  yeth,  thurely,  Mathter  Juhan.' 

Nana's  demonstrations  were  always  restrained, 
respectful.  She  habitually  boasted  that  although  hfe 
in  the  easy  South  might  have  induced  her  to  relax 
her  severity  towards  her  figure,  she  had  never  allowed 
it  to  impair  her  manners. 

'Can  I  go  up  to  Eve's  room,  Nannie?' 

'I  thuppoth  tho,  my  dear.' 

'Nannie,  you  know,  you  ought  to  be  an  old 
negress.' 

'  Why,  dear  Lord  !    me  black  ? ' 

'Yes;    you'd  be  ever  so  much  more  suitable.' 

He  ran  off  to  Eve's  room  upstairs,  laughing,  boyish 
again  after  his  boredom  and  irritabihty.  He  had  been 
in  Eve's  room  many  times  before,  but  with  his  fingers 


ii6  CHALLENGE 

on  the  door  handle  he  paused.  Again  that  strange 
vexation  at  her  years  had  seized  him. 

He  knocked. 

inside,  the  room  was  very  dim;  the  furniture  bulked 
large  in  the  shadows.  Scent,  dusk,  luxury  lapped  round 
him  like  warm  water.  He  had  an  impression  of  soft, 
scattered  garments,  deep  mirrors,  chosen  books,  and 
many  Uttle  bottles.  Suddenly  he  was  appalled  by  the 
insolence  of  his  own  intrusion — an  unbeliever  bursting 
into  a  shrine.  He  stood  silent  by  the  door.  He  heard 
a  drowsy  voice  singing  in  a  murmur  an  absurd  childish 
rhyme, — 

*D  etait  noir  comme  un  corbeau, 
Ali,  Ali,  Ali,  Alo, 
Macachebono, 

La  Roustah,  la  Mougah,  la  Roustah, 
la  Mougah, 
Allah  1 

•H  6tait  de  bonne  famille. 
Sa  mere  elevait  des  chameaux, 
Macachebono  .  .  .' 

He  discerned  the  bed,  the  filmy  veils  of  the  muslin 
mosquito  curtains,  falling  apart  from  a  baldaquin.  The 
lazy  voice,  after  a  moment  of  silence,  queried, — 

'Nana?' 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  he  brought  himself  to  utter, — 

'No;    JuUan.' 

With  an  upheaval  of  sheets  he  heard  her  sit  upright 
in  bed,  and  her  exclamation, — 

'Who  said  you  might  come  in  here?' 

At  that  he  laughed,  quite  naturally. 

'Why  not?  I  was  bored.  May  I  come  and  talk  to 
you?' 


EVE  117 

He  came  round  the  comer  of  the  screen  and  saw  her 
sitting  up,  her  hair  tumbled  and  dark,  her  face  indistinct, 
her  shoulders  emerging  white  from  a  foam  of  lace. 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  the  details  of 
the  room  emerging  slowly  from  the  darkness;  and  she 
herself  becoming  more  distinct  as  she  watched  him,  her 
shadowy  eyes  half  sarcastic,  half  resentful. 

'  Sybarite  ! '  he  said. 

She  only  smiled  in  answer,  and  put  out  one  hand 
towards  him.  It  fell  hstlessly  on  to  the  sheets  as 
though  she  had  no  energy  to  hold  it  up. 

'You  child,'  he  said,  'you  make  me  feel  coarse  and 
vulgar  beside  you.  Here  am  I,  burning  for  battle,  and 
there  you  he,  wasting  time,  wasting  youth,  half-asleep, 
luxurious,  and  quite  unrepentant.' 

'Surely  even  you  must  find  it  too  hot  for  battle?' 

'  I  don't  find  it  too  hot  to  wish  that  it  weren't  too  hot. 
You,  on  the  other  hand,  abandon  yourself  contentedly; 
you  are  pleased  that  it  is  too  hot  for  you  to  do  anything 
but  glide  voluptuously  into  a  siesta  in  the  middle  of 
the  day.' 

'You  haven't  been  here  long,  remember,  Julian; 
you're  still  brisk  from  England.  Only  wait;  Herakleion 
will  overcome  you.' 

'Don't!'  he  cried  out  startlingly.  'Don't  say  it! 
It's  prophetic.  I  shall  struggle  against  it;  I  shall  be 
the  stronger.' 

She  only  laughed  murmurously  into  her  pillows,  but 
he  was  really  stirred;  he  stood  up  and  walked  about  the 
room,  launching  spasmodic  phrases. 

'You  and  Herakleion,  you  are  all  of  a  piece. — You 
shan't  drag  me  down. — Not  if  I  am  to  live  here. — 
I  know  one  loses  one's  sense  of  values  here.  I  learnt 
that  when  I  last  went  away  to  England.  I've  come  back 
on  my  guard. — I'm  determined  to  remain  level-headed. 
--I  refuse  to  be  impressed  by  fantastic  happenings  .  .  , 


ii8  CHALLENGE 

'  Why  do  you  stop  so  abruptly  ? '  Did  her  voice  mock 
him? 

He  had  stopped,  remembering  Paul.  Already  he  had 
blundered  against  something  he  did  not  understand. 
An  impulse  came  to  him  to  confide  in  Eve;  Eve  lying 
there,  quietly  smiling  with  unexpressed  but  unmistakable 
irony;  Eve  so  certain  that,  sooner  or  later,  Herakleion 
would  conquer  him.  He  would  confide  in  her.  And 
then,  as  he  hesitated,  he  knew  suddenly  that  Eve  was 
not  trustworthy. 

He  began  again  walking  about  the  room,  betraying 
by  no  word  that  a  moment  of  revelation,  important  and 
dramatic,  had  come  and  passed  on  the  tick  of  a  clock. 
Yet  he  knew  he  had  crossed  a  line  over  which  he  could 
now  never  retrace  his  steps.  He  would  never  again 
regard  Eve  in  quite  the  same  light.  He  absorbed  the 
alteration  with  remarkable  rapidity  into  his  conception 
of  her.  He  supposed  that  the  knowledge  of  her  un- 
trustworthiness  had  always  lain  dormant  in  him  waiting 
for  the  test  which  should  some  day  call  it  out;  that 
was  why  he  was  so  little  impressed  by  what  he  had 
mistaken  for  new  knowledge. 

'Julian,  sit  down;  how  restless  you  are.  And  you 
look  so  enormous  in  this  room,  you  frighten  me.' 

He  sat  down,  closer  to  her  than  he  had  sat  before, 
and  began  playing  with  her  fingers. 

'  How  soft  your  hand  is.  It  is  quite  boneless,'  he  said, 
crushing  it  together;  'it's  hke  a  little  pigeon.  So  you 
think  Herakleion  will  beat  me?  I  dare  say  you  are 
right.  Shall  I  tell  you  something?  When  I  was  on 
my  way  here,  from  England,  I  determined  that  I 
would  allow  myself  to  be  beaten.  I  don't  know  why 
I  had  that  moment  of  revolt  just  now.  Because  I  am 
quite  determined  to  let  myself  drift  with  the  current, 
whether  it  carry  rae  towards  adventures  or  towards 
lotus-land.' 


EVE  119 

'Perhaps  towards  both.' 

'Isn't  that  too  much  to  hope?' 

'Why?  They  are  compatible.  Cast  le  sort  de  la 
jeunesse.' 

'  Prophesy  adventures  for  me  ! ' 

'My  dear  JuHan  !     I'm  far  too  lazy.' 

'  Lotus-land,  then  ? ' 

'This  room  isn't  a  bad  substitute,'  she  proffered. 

He  wondered  then  at  the  exact  extent  of  her  meaning. 
He  was  accustomed  to  the  amazing  emotional  scenes 
she  had  periodically  created  between  them  in  childhood 
— scenes  which  he  never  afterwards  could  rehearse  to 
himself;  scenes  whose  fabric  he  never  could  dissect, 
because  it  was  more  fantastic,  more  unreal,  than 
gossamer;  scenes  in  which  storm,  anger,  and  heroics  had 
figured;  scenes  from  which  he  had  emerged  worried, 
shattered,  usually  with  the  ardent  impress  of  her  Ups 
on  his,  and  brimming  with  self-reproach.  A  calm 
existence  was  not  for  her;  she  would  neither  understand 
nor  tolerate  it. 

The  door  opened,  and  old  Nana  came  shuffling  in. 

'Mith  Eve,  pleath,  there'th  a  gentleman  downstairth 
to  thee  you.     Here'th  hith  card.' 

Juhan  took  it. 

'Eve,  it's  Malteios.' 

That  drowsy  voice,  indifferent  and  melodious, — 

'Tell  him  to  go  away,  Nana;   tell  him  I  am  resting.* 

'But,,  dearie,  what'll  your  mother  thay?' 

'Tell  him  to  go  away.  Nana.' 

'He'th  the  Prime  Minithter,'  Nana  began  doubtfuUy. 

'Eve  I'  Julian  said  in  indignation. 

'But,  Mith  Eve,  you  know  he  came  latht  week  and 
you  forgot  he  wath  coming  and  you  wath  out.' 

'Is  that  so,  Eve?  Is  he  here  by  appointment  with 
you  to-day?' 

'No.' 


120  CHALLENGE 

'  I  shall  go  down  to  him  and  find  out  whether  you  are 
speaking  the  truth.* 

He  went  downstairs,  ignoring  Eve's  voice  that  called 
him  back.  The  Premier  was  in  the  drawing-room, 
examining  the  insignificant  ornaments  on  the  table. 
Their  last  meeting  had  been  a  memorable  one,  in  the 
painted  room  overlooking  the  platia. 

When  their  greetings  were  over,  Julian  said, — 

'I  beheve  you  were  asking  for  my  cousin,  sir?' 

'That  is  so.  She  promised  me,'  said  the  Premier,  a 
sly  look  coming  over  his  face,  'that  she  would  give  me 
tea  to-day.     Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her?' 

'What,'  thought  JuHan,  'does  this  old  scapegrace 
pohtician,  who  must  have  his  mind  and  his  days  full  of 
the  coming  elections,  want  with  Eve?  and  want  so 
badly  that  he  can  perform  the  feat  of  coming  out  here 
from  Herakleion  in  the  heat  of  the  afternoon?' 

Aloud  he  said,  grimly  because  of  the  lie  she  had  told 
him, — 

'She  will  be  with  you  in  a  few  moments,  sir,' 

In  Eve's  dark  room,  where  Nana  still  stood  fatly  and 
hopelessly  expostulating,  and  Eve  pretended  to  sleep, 
he  spoke  roughly, — 

'  You  lied  to  me  as  usual.  He  is  here  by  appointment. 
He  is  waiting.  I  told  him  you  would  not  keep  him 
waiting  long.     You  must  get  up.' 

'  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  What  right  have  you 
to  dictate  to  me? ' 

'You're  making  Mathter  Juhan  croth — and  he  tho 
thweet-tempered  alwayth,'  said  Nana's  warning  voice. 

'Does  she  usually  behave  hke  this.  Nana?' 

'Oh,  Mathter  JuHan,  it'th  dreadful— and  me  alwayth 
thaving  her  from  her  mother,  too.  And  loothing  all 
her  thingth,  too,  all  the  time.  I  can't  keep  anything 
in  it'th  plathe.  Only  three  dayth  ago  the  lotht  a  diamond 
ring,  but  the  never  cared.     The  Thpanith  gentleman 


EVE  121 

thent  it  to  her,  and  the  never  thanked  him,  and  then 
lotht  the  ring.  And  the  never  notithed  or  cared.  And 
the  getth  dretheth  and  dretheth,  and  won't  put  them  on 
twith.  And  flowerth  and  chocolathes  thent  her — they 
all  thpoil  her  tho — and  the  biteth  all  the  chocolathes  in 
two  to  thee  what'th  inthide,  and  throwth  them  away  and 
thayth  the  dothn't  hke  them.  That  exathperating,  the 
ith.' 

'Leave  her  to  me,  Nannie.' 

'Mith  Naughtineth,'  said  Nana,  as  she  left  the  room. 

They  were  alone. 

'  Eve,  I  am  really  angry.     That  old  man  ! ' 

She  turned  luxuriously  on  to  her  back,  her  arms  flung 
wide,  and  lay  looking  at  him. 

'You  are  very  anxious  that  I  should  go  to  him.  You 
are  not  very  jealous  of  me,  are  you,  Julian?' 

'  Why  does  he  come? '  he  asked  curiously.  '  You  never 
told  me  ..." 

'There  are  a  great  many  things  I  never  tell  you,  my 
dear.' 

'It  is  not  my  business  and  I  am  not  interested,'  he 
answered,  'but  he  has  come  a  long  way  in  the  heat  to 
see  you,  and  I  dislike  your  callousness.  I  insist  upon 
your  getting  up.' 

She  smiled  provokingly.  He  dropped  on  his  knees 
near  her. 

'  Darhng,  to  please  me  ? ' 

She  gave  a  laugh  of  sudden  disdain. 

'Fool!  I  might  have  obeyed  you;  now  you  have 
thrown  away  your  advantage.' 

'  Have  I  ? '  he  said,  and,  slipping  his  arm  beneath  her, 
he  hfted  her  up  bodily.  '  WTiere  shall  I  put  you  down? ' 
he  asked,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and 
holding  her.     '  At  your  dressing-table  ? ' 

'Why  don't  you  steal  me,  JuUan?'  she  murmured, 
setthng  herself  more  comfortably  in  his  grasp. 
c.  I 


122  CHALLENGE 

'Steal  you?   what  on  earth  do  you  mean?   explain  i' 
he  said. 

'Oh,  I  don't  know;  if  you  don't  understand,  it  doesn't 
matter,'  she  repHed  with  some  impatience,  but  beneath 
her  impatience  he  saw  that  she  was  shaken,  and,  flinging 
one  arm  round  his  neck,  she  pulled  herself  up  and  kissed 
hun  on  the  mouth.  He  struggled  away,  displeased, 
brotherly,  and  feeling  the  indecency  of  that  kiss  in  that 
darkened  room,  given  by  one  whose  thinly-clad,  supple 
body  he  had  been  holding  as  he  might  hold  a  child's. 
'You  have  a  genius  for  making  me  angry.  Eve.' 
He  stopped  :  she  had  relaxed  suddenly,  hmp  and 
white  in  his  arms;  with  a  long  sigh  she  let  her  head  fall 
back,  her  eyes  closed.  The  warmth  of  her  Umbs  reached 
him  through  the  diaphanous  garment  she  wore.  He 
thought  he  had  never  before  seen  such  abandonment  of 
expression  and  attitude;  his  displeasure  deepened,  and 
an  uncomphmentary  word  rose  to  his  hps. 

'I  don't  wonder  .  .  .'  flashed  through  his  mind. 
He  was  shocked,  as  a  brother  might  be  at  the  betrayal 
of  his  sister's  sexuality. 
'  Eve  ! '  he  said  sharply. 

She  opened  her  eyes,  met  his,  and  came  to  herself. 
'Put  me  down  !'  she  cried,  and  as  he  set  her  on  her 
feet,  she  snatched  at  her  Spanish  shawl  and  wrapped  it 
round  her.  '  Oh  ! '  she  said,  an  altered  being,  shamed  and 
outraged,  burying  her  face,  'go  now,  JuHan— go,  go,  go.' 
He  went,  shaking  his  head  in  perplexity  :  there  were 
too  many  things  in  Herakleion  he  failed  to  imderstand. 
Paul,  Eve,  Malteios.  This  afternoon  with  Eve,  which 
should  have  been  natural,  had  been  difficult.  Moments 
of  illumination  were  also  moments  of  a  profounder 
obscurity.  And  why  should  Malteios  return  to-day, 
when  in  the  preceding  week,  according  to  Nana,  he  had 
been  so  casually  forgotten?  Why  so  patient,  so  long- 
suffering,  with  Eve?    Was  it  possible  that  he  should  be 


EVE  123 

attracted  by  Eve?  It  seemed  to  Julian,  accustomed  still 
to  regard  her  as  a  child,  very  improbable.  Malteios  ! 
The  Premier  !  And  the  elections  beginning  within  four 
days — that  he  should  spare  the  time  !  Rumour  said 
that  the  elections  would  go  badly  for  him;  that  the 
Stavridists  would  be  returned.  A  bad  look-out  for  the 
Islands  if  they  were.  Rumour  said  that  Stavridis  was 
neglecting  no  means,  no  means  whatsoever,  by  which  he 
might  strengthen  his  cause.  He  was  more  unscrupulous, 
younger,  more  vigorous,  than  Malteios.  The  years  of 
dispossession  had  added  to  his  determination  and  energy. 
Malteios  had  seriously  prejudiced  his  popularity  by  his 
liaison  with  Kato,  a  woman,  as  the  people  of  Herakleion 
never  forgot,  of  the  Islands,  and  an  avowed  champion 
of  their  cause.  Was  it  possible  that  Eve  was  mixed  up  in 
Malteios'  political  schemes?  Julian  laughed  aloud  at 
the  idea  of  Eve  interesting  herself  in  politics.  But 
perhaps  Kato  herself,  for  whom  Eve  entertained  one  of 
her  strongest  and  most  enduring  enthusiasms,  had  taken 
advantage  of  their  friendship  to  interest  Eve  in  Malteios' 
affairs?  Anything  was  possible  in  that  preposterous 
state.  Eve,  he  knew,  would  mischievously  and  ignorantly 
espouse  any  form  of  intrigue.  If  Malteios  came  with 
any  other  motive  he  was  an  old  satyr — nothing  more. 

JuHan's  mind  strayed  again  to  the  elections.  The 
return  of  the  Stavridis  party  would  mean  certain 
disturbances  in  the  Islands.  Disturbances  would  mean 
an  instant  appeal  for  leadership.  He  would  be  reminded 
of  the  day  he  had  spent,  the  only  day  of  his  hfe,  he 
thought,  on  which  he  had  truly  hved,  on  Aphros. 
Tsigaridis  would  come,  grave,  insistent,  to  hold  him  to 
his  undertakings,  a  figure  of  comedy  in  his  absurdly 
picturesque  clothes,  but  also  a  figure  fuU  of  dignity  with 
his  unanswerable  claim.  He  would  bring  forward  a 
species  of  moral  blackmail,  to  which  Juhan,  ripe  for 
adventure    and    sensitive    to    his    obhgations,    would 


124  CHALLENGE 

surely  surrender.  After  that  there  would  be  no  drav/ing 
back  .  .  . 

'  I  have  httle  hope  of  victory,'  said  Malteios,  to  whom 
Julian,  in  search  of  information,  had  recourse;  and 
hinted  with  infinite  suavity  and  euphemism,  that  the 
question  of  election  in  Harakleion  depended  largely,  if 
not  entirely,  on  the  condition  and  judicious  distribu- 
tion of  the  party  funds.  Stavridis,  it  appeared,  had 
controlled  larger  subscriptions,  more  trustworthy  guar- 
antees. The  Christopoulos,  the  largest  bankers,  were 
unreliable.  Alexander  had  political  ambitions.  An 
under-secretaryship  .  .  .  Christopoulos  pbre  had  sub- 
scribed, it  was  true,  to  the  Malteios  party,  but  while 
his  right  hand  produced  the  miserable  sum  from  his 
right  pocket,  who  could  tell  with  what  generosity  his 
left  hand  ladled  out  the  drachmae  into  the  gaping 
Stavridis  coffers?  Safe  in  either  eventuality.  Malteios 
knew  his  game. 

The  Premier  enlarged  blandly  upon  the  situation, 
regretful,  but  without  indignation.  As  a  man  of  the 
world,  he  accepted  its  ways  as  Herakleion  knew  them. 
Julian  noted  his  gentle  shrugs,  his  unfinished  sentences 
and  innuendoes.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  Premier's 
frankness  and  readiness  to  enlarge  upon  political 
technique  were  not  without  motive.  Buttoned  into  his 
nigh  frock-coat,  which  the  climate  of  Herakleion  was 
unable  to  abohsh,  he  walked  softly  up  and  down  the 
parquet  floor  between  the  lapis  columns,  his  fingers 
loosely  interlaced  behind  his  back,  talking  to  Juhan.  In 
another  four  days  he  might  no  longer  be  Premier,  might 
be  merely  a  private  individual,  unostentatiously  working 
a  dozen  strands  of  intrigue.  The  boy  was  not  to  be 
neglected  as  a  tool.  He  tried  him  on  what  he  conceived 
to  be  his  tenderest  point. 

'I  have  not  been  unfavourable  to  your  islanders 
during  my  administration,' — then,  thinking  the  method 


EVE  125 

perhaps  a  trifle  crude,  he  added,  'I  have  even  exposed 
myself  to  the  attack  of  my  opponents  on  that  score; 
they  have  made  capital  out  of  my  clemency.  Had  I  been 
a  less  disinterested  man,  I  should  have  had  greater  fore- 
sight. I  should  have  sacrificed  my  sense  of  justice  to  the 
demands  of  my  future.' 

He  gave  a  deprecatory  and  melancholy  smile. 

'Do  I  regret  the  course  I  chose?  Not  for  an  instant. 
The  responsibihty  of  a  statesman  is  not  solely  towards 
himself  or  his  adherents.  He  must  set  it  sternly  aside 
in  favour  of  the  poor,  ignorant  destinies  committed  to 
his  care.  I  lay  down  my  office  with  an  unburdened 
conscience.' 

He  stopped  in  his  walk  and  stood  before  JuHan,  who, 
with  his  hands  thrust  in  his  pockets,  had  Hstened  to 
the  discourse  from  the  depths  of  his  habitual  arm- 
chair. 

'But  you,  young  man,  are  not  in  my  position.  The 
door  I  seek  is  marked  Exit;  the  door  you  seek.  Entrance. 
I  think  I  may,  without  presumption,  as  an  old  and 
finished  man,  offer  you  a  word  of  prophecy.'  He 
unlaced  his  fingers  and  pointed  one  of  them  at  Juhan. 
'  You  may  live  to  be  the  saviour  of  an  oppressed  people, 
a  not  unworthy  mission.  Remember  that  my  present 
opponents,  should  they  come  to  power,  will  not  sympa- 
thise with  your  efforts,  as  I  myself — who  knows? — 
might  have  sympathised.' 

JuHan,  acknowledging  the  warning,  thought  he 
recognised  the  style  of  the  Senate  Chamber,  but  failed 
to  recognise  the  sentiments  he  had  heard  expressed  by 
the  Premier  on  a  former  occasion,  on  this  same  subject 
of  his  interference  in  the  affairs  of  the  Islands.  He 
ventured  to  suggest  as  much.  The  Premier's  smile 
broadened,  his  deprecatory  manner  deepened. 

*Ah,  you  were  younger  then;  hot-headed;  I  did  not 
know  how  far  I  could  trust  you.     Your  intentions. 


126  CHALLENGE 

excellent;  but  your  judgment  perhaps  a  little  precipi- 
tate? Since  then,  you  have  seen  the  world;  you  are 
a  man.  You  have  returned,  no  doubt,  ready  to  pick  up 
the  weapon  you  tentatively  fingered  as  a  boy.  You  will 
no  longer  be  blinded  by  sentiment,  you  will  weigh  your 
actions  nicely  in  the  balance.  And  you  will  remember 
the  goodwill  of  Platon  Malteios  ? ' 

He  resumed  his  soft  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

'Within  a  few  weeks  you  may  find  yourself  in  the 
heart  of  strife.  I  see  you  as  a  young  athlete  on  the 
threshold,  doubtless  as  generous  as  most  young  men, 
as  ambitious,  as  eager.  Discard  the  divine  foolishness 
of  allowing  ideas,  not  facts,  to  govern  your  heart.  We 
live  in  Herakleion,  not  in  Utopia.  We  have  all  shed, 
little  by  little,  our  illusions.  .  .  .' 

After  a  sigh,  the  depth  of  whose  genuineness  neither 
he  nor  Julian  could  accurately  diagnose,  he  continued, 
brightening  as  he  returned  to  the  practical, — 

'Stavridis — a  harsher  man  than  L  He  and  your 
islanders  would  come  to  grips  within  a  month.  I  should 
scarcely  deplore  it.  A  question  based  on  the  struggle 
of  nationality — for,  it  cannot  be  denied,  the  Italian 
blood  of  your  islanders  severs  them  irremediably  from 
the  true  Greek  of  Herakleion — such  questions  cry  for 
decisive  settlement  even  at  the  cost  of  a  httle  blood- 
letting. Submission  or  liberty,  once  and  for  all.  That 
is  preferable  to  the  present  irritable  shilly-shally.' 

'I  know  the  alternative  I  should  choose,'  said  Julian. 

'Liberty? — the  lure  of  the  young,'  said  Malteios,  not 
unkindly.  'I  said  that  I  should  scarcely  deplore  such 
an  attempt,  for  it  would  fail;  Herakleion  could  never 
tolerate  for  long  the  independence  of  the  Islands.  Yes, 
it  would  surely  fail.  But  from  it  good  might  emerge. 
A  friendlier  settlement,  a  better  understanding,  a  more 
cheerful  submission.  Believe  me,'  he  added,  seeing  the 
cloud   of   obstinate   disagreement   upon   Juhan's  face. 


EVE  127 

'never  break  your  heart  over  the  failure.  Your  Islands 
would  have  learnt  the  lesson  of  the  inevitable;  and  the 
great  inevitable  is  perhaps  the  least  intolerable  of  all 
human  sorrows.  There  is,  after  all,  a  certain  kindhness 
in  the  fate  which  lays  the  obhgation  of  sheer  necessity 
upon  our  courage.' 

For  a  moment  his  usual  manner  had  left  him;  he 
recalled  it  with  a  short  laugh. 

'Perhaps  the  thought  that  my  long  years  of  office 
may  be  nearly  at  an  end  betrays  me  into  this  undue 
melancholy,'  he  said  flippantly;  'pay  no  attention, 
young  man.  Indeed,  whatever  I  may  say,  I  know  that 
you  will  cUng  to  your  idea  of  revolt.    Am  I  not  right? ' 

Once  more  the  keen,  sly  look  was  in  his  eyes,  and 
Juhan  knew  that  only  the  Malteios  who  desired  the 
rupture  of  the  Islands  with  his  own  political  adversary, 
remained.  He  felt,  in  a  way,  comforted  to  be  again 
upon  the  familiar  ground;  his  conception  of  the  man 
had  been  momentarily  disarranged. 

'Your  Excellency  is  very  shrewd,'  he  rephed,  pohtely 
and  evasively. 

Malteios  shrugged  and  smiled  the  smile  that  had  such 
real  charm;  and  as  he  shrugged  and  smiled  the  discussion 
away  into  the  region  of  such  things  dismissed,  his  glance 
travelled  beyond  JuUan  to  the  door,  his  mouth  curved 
into  a  more  goatish  smile  amidst  his  beard,  and  his  eyes 
narrowed  into  two  sUts  till  his  whole  face  resembled  the 
mask  of  the  old  faun  that  Eve  had  drawn  on  the  blotting 
paper. 

'  Mademoiselle  ! '  he  murmured,  advancing  towards 
Eve,  who,  dressed  in  white,  appeared  between  the  lapis- 
lazuli  columns. 


m 

Madame  Lafarge  gave  a  picnic  which  preceded  the 
day  of  the  elections,  and  to  Juhan  Davenant  it  seemed 
that  he  was  entering  a  cool,  dark  cavern  roofed  over 
with  mysterious  greenery  after  riding  in  the  heat  across 
a  glaring  plain.  The  transition  from  the  white  Herakleion 
to  the  deep  valley,  shut  in  by  steep,  terraced  hills  covered 
with  olives,  ilexes,  and  myrtles — a  valley  profound, 
haunted,  silent,  haUowed  by  pools  of  black-green  shadow 
— consciousness  of  the  transition  stole  over  him  sooth- 
ingly, as  his  pony  picked  its  way  down  the  stony  path 
of  the  hill-side.  He  had  refused  to  accompany  the 
others.  Early  in  the  morning  he  had  ridden  over  the 
hills,  so  early  that  he  had  watched  the  sunrise,  and  had 
counted,  from  a  summit,  the  houses  on  Aphros  in  the 
glassy  limpidity  of  the  Grecian  dawn.  The  morning  had 
been  pure  as  the  treble  notes  of  a  violin,  the  sea  below 
bright  as  a  pavement  of  diamonds.  The  Islands  lay, 
clear  and  low,  dehcately  yellow,  rose,  and  lilac,  in  the 
serene  immensity  of  the  dazzling  waters.  They  seemed 
to  him  to  contain  every  element  of  enchantment; 
cleanly  of  line  as  cameos,  yet  intangible  as  a  mirage, 
rising  lovely  and  gracious  as  Aphrodite  from  the  white 
flashes  of  their  foam,  fairy  islands  of  beauty  and  illusion 
in  a  sea  of  radiant  and  eternal  youth. 

A  stream  ran  through  the  valley,  and  near  the  banks 
of  the  stream,  in  front  of  a  clump  of  ilexes,  gleamed  the 
marble  columns  of  a  tiny  ruined  temple.  Julian  turned 
his  pony  loose  to  graze,  throwing  himself  down  at  full 
length  beside  the  stream  and  idly  pulling  at  the  orchids 
and  magenta  cyclamen  which  grew  in  profusion.  Towards 
midday  his   solitude  was  interrupted.      A   procession 

128 


EVE  129 

of  victorias  accompanied  by  men  on  horseback  began 
to  wind  down  the  steep  road  into  the  valley;  from 
afar  he  watched  them  coming,  conscious  of  distaste  and 
boredom,  then  remembering  that  Eve  was  of  the  party, 
and  smiling  to  himself  a  little  in  rehef .  She  would  come, 
at  first  silent,  unobtrusive,  almost  sulky;  then  little  by 
little  the  spell  of  their  intimacy  would  steal  over  him, 
and  by  a  word  or  a  glance  they  would  be  Unked,  the 
whole  system  of  their  relationship  developing  itself 
anew,  a  system  elaborated  by  her,  as  he  well  knew; 
built  up  of  personed,  whimsical  jokes;  stimulating, 
inventive,  she  had  to  a  supreme  extent  the  gift  of  creating 
such  a  web,  subtly,  by  meaning  more  than  she  said  and 
saying  less  than  she  meant;  giving  infinite  promise,  but 
ever  postponing  fulfilment. 

'  A  flirt  ? '  he  wondered  to  himself,  lazUy  watching  the 
string  of  carriages  in  one  of  which  she  was. 

But  she  was  more  elemental,  nore  dangerous,  than  a 
mere  flirt.  On  that  account,  and  because  of  her  wide 
and  penetrative  intelligence,  he  could  not  relegate  her 
to  the  common  category.  Yet  he  thought  he  might 
safely  make  the  assertion  that  no  man  in  Herakleion  had 
altogether  escaped  her  attraction.  He  thought  he  might 
apply  this  generahsation  from  M.  Lafarge,  or  Malteios, 
or  Don  Rodrigo  Valdez,  down  to  the  chasseur  who  picked 
up  her  handkerchief.  (Her  handkerchief !  ah,  yes ! 
she  could  always  be  traced,  as  in  a  paper-chase,  by  her 
scattered  possessions — a  handkerchief,  a  glove,  a 
cigarette-case,  a  gardenia,  a  purse  full  of  money,  a 
powder-puff — frivolities  doubly  dehghtful  and  doubly 
irritating  in  a  being  so  terrifyingly  elemental,  so  un- 
assailably  and  sarcastically  intelligent.)  Eve,  the  child 
he  had  known  unaccountable,  passionate,  embarrassing, 
who  had  written  hira  the  precocious  letters  on  every 
topic  in  a  variety  of  tongues,  imaginative  exceedingly, 
copiously  illustrated,  bursting  occasionally  into  erratic 


130  CHALLENGE 

and  illegible  verse;  Eve,  with  her  desperate  and  exces- 
sive passions;  Eve,  grown  to  womanhood,  grown 
into  a  firebrand  !  He  had  been  entertained,  but  at 
the  same  time  slightly  offended,  to  find  her  grown;  his 
conception  of  her  was  disarranged;  he  had  felt  almost  a 
sense  of  outrage  in  seeing  her  heavy  hair  piled  upon  her 
head;  he  had  looked  curiously  at  the  uncovered  nape  of 
her  neck,  the  hair  brushed  upwards  and  slightly  curling, 
where  once  it  had  hung  thick  and  plaited;  he  had  noted 
with  an  irritable  shame  the  softness  of  her  throat  in  the 
evening  dress  she  had  worn  when  first  he  had  seen  her. 
He  banished  violently  the  recollection  of  her  in  that 
brief  moment  when  in  his  anger  he  had  Hfted  her  out  of 
her  bed  and  had  carried  her  across  the  room  in  his 
arms.  He  banished  it  with  a  shudder  and  a 
revulsion,  as  he  might  have  banished  a  suggestion  of 
incest. 

Springing  to  his  feet,  he  went  forward  to  meet  the 
carriages;  the  shadowed  valley  was  flicked  by  the 
bright  uniforms  of  the  chasseurs  on  the  boxes  and  the 
summer  dresses  of  the  women  in  the  victorias;  the 
laughter  of  the  Danish  Excellency  already  reached  his 
ears  above  the  hum  of  talk  and  the  sliding  hoofs  of  the 
horses  as  they  advanced  cautiously  down  the  hill, 
straining  back  against  their  harness,  and  bringing  with 
them  at  every  step  a  little  shower  of  stones  from  the 
rough  surface  of  the  road.  The  younger  men,  Greeks, 
and  secretaries  of  legations,  rode  by  the  side  of  the 
carriages.  The  Danish  Excellency  was  the  first  to  alight, 
fat  and  babbling  in  a  pink  muslin  dress  with  innumerable 
flounces;  Julian  turned  aside  to  hide  his  smile.  Madame 
Lafarge  descended  with  her  customary  weightiness, 
beaming  without  benevolence  but  with  a  tyrannical 
proprietorship  over  all  her  guests.  She  graciously 
accorded  her  hand  to  Julian.  The  chasseurs  were  already 
busy  with  wicker  baskets. 


EYE  131 

'The  return  to  Nature,'  Alexander  Christopoulos 
whispered  to  Eve, 

Juhan  observed  that  Eve  looked  bored  and  sulky; 
she  detested  large  assembUes,  unless  she  could  hold  their 
entire  attention,  preferring  the  more  intimate  scope  of 
the  tete-a-tete.  Amongst  the  largest  gathering  she  usually 
contrived  to  isolate  herself  and  one  other,  with  whom 
she  conversed  in  whispers.  Presently,  he  knew,  she 
would  be  made  to  recite,  or  to  tell  anecdotes,  involving 
imitation,  and  this  she  would  perform,  at  first  languidly, 
but  warming  with  applause,  and  would  end  by  dancing 
— he  knew  her  programme  !  He  rarely  spoke  to  her,  or 
she  to  him,  in  pubhc.  She  would  appear  to  ignore  him, 
devoting  herself  to  Don  Rodrigo,  or  to  Alexander,  or, 
most  probably,  to  the  avowed  admirer  of  some  other 
woman.  He  had  frequently  brought  his  direct  and 
mascuhne  arguments  to  bear  against  this  practice.  She 
Listened  without  repljdng,  as  though  she  did  not  under- 
stand. 

Fru  Thyregod  was  more  than  usually  sprightly. 

'Now,  Armand,  you  lazy  fellow,  bring  me  my  camera; 
this  day  has  to  be  immortahsed;  I  must  have  pictures 
of  all  you  beautiful  young  men  for  my  friends  in  Den- 
mark. Fauns  in  a  Grecian  grave  !  Let  me  peep  whether 
any  of  you  have  cloven  feet.* 

Madame  Lafarge  put  up  her  lorgnon,  and  said  to  the 
Italian  Minister  in  a  not  very  low  voice, — 

'  I  am  so  fond  of  dear  Fru  Thyregod,  but  she  is  terribly 
vulgar  at  times.' 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  laughter  over  Fru  Thyxegod's 
sally,  and  some  of  the  young  men  pretended  to  hide  their 
feet  beneath  napkins. 

'Eve  and  Juhe,  you  must  be  the  njTnphs,'  the  Danish 
Excellency  went  on. 

Eve  took  no  notice;  Julie  looked  shy,  and  the  sisters 
Christopoulos  angry  at  not  being  included. 


132  CHALLENGE 

'Now  we  must  all  help  to  unpack;  that  is  half  the  fun 
of  the  picnic,'  said  Madame  Lafarge,  in  a  business-like 
tone. 

Under  the  glare  of  her  lorgnon  Armand  and  Madame 
Delahaye  attacked  one  basket;  they  nudged  and 
whispered  to  one  another,  and  their  fingers  became 
entangled  under  the  cover  of  the  paper  wrappings.  Eve 
strolled  away,  Valdez  followed  her.  The  Persian  Minister 
who  had  come  unobtrusively,  after  the  manner  of  a 
humble  dog,  stood  gently  smihng  in  the  background. 
Julie  Lafarge  never  took  her  adoring  eyes  off  Eve. 
The  immense  Grbits  had  drawn  Julian  on  one  side,  and 
was  talking  to  him,  shooting  out  his  jaw  and  hitting 
JuHan  on  the  chest  for  emphasis.  Fru  Thyregod,  with 
many  whispers,  collected  a  little  group  to  whom  she 
pointed  them  out,  and  photographed  them. 

'  Really, 'said  the  Danish  Minister  peevishly,  to  Condesa 
Valdez,  '  my  wife  is  the  most  foolish  woman  I  know.' 

During  the  picnic  every  one  was  very  gay,  with  the 
exception  of  Julian,  who  regretted  having  come,  and  of 
Miloradovitch,  of  whom  Eve  was  taking  no  notice  at  all. 
Madame  Lafarge  was  especially  pleased  with  the  success 
of  her  expedition.  She  enjoyed  the  intimacy  that 
existed  amongst  all  her  guests,  and  said  as  much  in  an 
aside  to  the  Roumanian  Minister. 

'You  know,  chere  Excellence,  I  have  known  most  of 
these  dear  friends  so  long;  we  have  spent  happy  years 
together  in  different  capitals;  that  is  the  best  of  dip- 
lomacy :  ce  qu'il  y  a  de  beau  dans  la  carriere  c'est  qu'on 
se  retrouve  toujours.' 

'  It  is  not  unHke  a  large  family,  one  may  say,'  replied 
the  Roumanian. 

'  How  well  you  phrase  it ! '  exclaimed  Madame  Lafarge. 
'Listen,  everybody  :  His  ExceDency  has  made  a  real 
mot  d'esprit,  he  says  diplomacy  is  like  a  large  fcunily.' 

Eve  and  Julian  looked  up,  and  their  eyes  met. 


EVE  133 

'  You  are  not  eating  anything,  Ardalion  Semeonovitch/ 
said  Araiand  (he  had  once  spent  two  months  in  Russia) 
to  Miloradovitch,  holding  out  a  plate  of  sandwiches. 

*No,  nor  do  I  want  anything,'  said  Miloradovitch 
rudely,  and  he  got  up,  and  walked  away  by  himself. 

*  Dear  me  I  ces  Russes  !  what  manners  I '  said  Madame 
Lafarge,  pretending  to  be  amused;  and  everybody  looked 
facetiously  at  Eve. 

'I  remember  once,  when  I  was  in  Russia,  at  the  time 
that  Stolypin  was  Prime  Minister,'  Don  Rodrigo  began, 
*  there  was  a  serious  scandal  about  one  of  the  Empress's 
ladies-in-waiting  and  a  son  of  old  Princess  Golucheff — 
you  remember  old  Princess  Goluchefi,  Excellency?  she 
was  a  Bariatinsky,  a  very  handsome  woman,  and  Serge 
Radziwill  killed  himself  on  her  account — he  was  a  Pole, 
one  of  the  Kieff  Radziwills,  whose  mother  was  commonly 
supposed  to  be  au  mieux  with  Stolypin  (though  Stolypin 
was  not  at  all  that  kind  of  man;  he  was  ires  province), 
and  most  people  thought  that  was  the  reason  why  Serge 
occupied  such  a  series  of  the  highest  Court  appointments, 
in  spite  of  being  a  Pole — the  Poles  were  particularly 
unpopular  just  then;  I  even  remember  that  Stanislas 
Aveniev,  in  spite  of  having  a  Russian  mother — she 
was  an  Orloff,  and  her  jewels  were  proverbial  even  in 
Petersburg — they  had  all  been  given  her  by  the  Grand 
Duke  Boris — Stanislas  Aveniev  was  obliged  to  resign 
his  commission  in  the  Czar's  guard.  However,  Casimir 
Golucheff  .  .  .'  but  everybody  bad  forgotten  the 
beginning  of  his  story  and  only  Madame  Lafarge  was  left 
politely  listening. 

Juhan  overheard  Eve  reproducing,  in  an  undertone 
to  Armand,  the  style  and  manner  of  Don  Rodrigo's 
conversation.  He  also  became  aware  that,  between  her 
saUies,  Fru  Thyregod  was  bent  upon  retaining  his 
attention  for  herself. 

He  was  disgusted  with  all  this  paraphernalia  of  social 


134  CHALLENGE 

construction,  and  longed  ardently  for  liberty  on  Aphros. 
He  wondered  whether  Eve  were  truly  satisfied,  or  whether 
she  played  the  part  merely  with  the  humorous  gusto  of 
an  artist,  caught  up  in  his  own  game;  he  wondered  to 
what  extent  her  mystery  was  due  to  her  life's  pretence  ? 

Later,  he  found  himself  drifting  apart  with  the  Danish 
Excellency;  he  drifted,  that  is,  beside  her,  tall,  slack 
of  limb,  absent  of  mind,  while  she  tripped  with  apparent 
heedlessness,  but  with  actual  determination  of  purpose. 
As  she  tripped  she  chattered.  Fair  and  silly,  she 
demanded  gallantry  of  men,  and  gallantry  of  a  kind 
— perfunctory,  faintly  pitying,  apologetic — she  was 
accorded.  She  had  enticed  Julian  away,  with  a  certain 
degree  of  skill,  and  was  glad.  Eve  had  scowled  blackly, 
in  the  one  swift  glance  she  had  thrown  them. 

'Your  cousin  enchants  Don  Rodrigo,  it  is  clear,'  Fru 
Thyregod  said  with  malice  as  they  strolled. 

Julian  turned  to  look  back.  He  saw  Eve  sitting  with 
the  Spanish  Minister  on  the  steps  of  the  little  temple.  In 
front  of  the  temple,  the  ruins  of  the  picnic  stained  the 
valley  with  bright  frivolity;  bits  of  white  paper  fluttered, 
tablecloths  remained  spread  on  the  ground,  and  laughter 
echoed  from  the  groups  that  still  lingered  hilariously; 
the  light  dresses  of  the  women  were  gay,  and  their 
parasols  floated  above  them  like  coloured  bubbles  against 
the  darkness  of  the  ilexes. 

'What  desecration  of  the  Dryads'  grove,'  said  Fni 
Thyregod,  'let  us  put  it  out  of  sight,'  and  she  gave  a 
little  run  forward,  and  then  glanced  over  her  shoulder 
to  see  if  Julian  were  following  her. 

He  came,  unsmiling  and  leisurely.  As  soon  as  they 
were  hidden  from  sight  among  the  olives,  she  began  to 
talk  to  him  about  himself,  walking  slowly,  looking  up 
at  him  now  and  then,  and  prodding  meditatively  with 
the  tip  of  her  parasol  at  the  stones  upon  the  ground. 
He  was,  she  said,  so  free.    He  had  his  Hfe  before  him. 


EVE  135 

And  she  talked  about  herself,  of  the  shackles  of  her  sex, 
the  practical  difficulties  of  her  hfe,  her  poverty,  her 
effort  to  hide  beneath  a  gay  exterior  a  heart  that  was 
not  gay. 

'Carl,'  she  said,  alluding  to  her  husband,  'has  indeed 
charge  of  the  affairs  of  Norway  and  Sweden  also  in 
Herakleion,  but  Herakleion  is  so  tiny,  he  is  paid  as 
though  he  were  a  Consul.' 

Juhan  Hstened,  dissecting  the  true  from  the  untrue; 
although  he  knew  her  gaiety  was  no  effort,  but  merely 
the  child  of  her  innate  fooUshness,  he  also  knew  that 
her  poverty  was  a  source  of  real  difficulties  to  her,  and 
he  felt  towards  her  a  warm,  though  a  bored  and  shghtly 
contemptuous,  friendliness.  He  Hstened  to  her  babble, 
thinking  more  of  the  stream  by  which  they  walked,  and 
of  the  httle  magenta  cyclamen  that  grew  in  the  shady, 
marshy  places  on  its  banks. 

Fru  Thyregod  was  speaking  of  Eve,  a  topic  round 
which  she  perpetually  hovered  in  an  uncertainty  of 
fascination  and  resentment. 

'  Do  you  approve  of  her  very  intimate  friendship  with 
that  singer,  Madame  Kato?' 

'I  am  very  fond  of  Madame  Kato  myself,  Fru 
Thyregod.' 

'Ah,  you  are  a  man.  But  for  Eve  ...  a  girl  .  .  . 
After  all,  what  is  Madame  Kato  but  a  common  woman, 
a  woman  of  the  people,  and  the  mistress  of  Malteios  into 
the  bargain?' 

Fru  Thyregod  was  unwontedly  serious.  Juhan  had 
not  yet  reaUsed  to  what  extent  Alexander  Christopoulos 
had  transferred  his  attentions  to  Eve. 

'You  know  I  am  an  unconventional  woman;  every 
one  who  knows  me  even  a  httle  can  see  that  I  am 
unconventional.  But  when  I  see  a  child,  a  nice  child, 
hke  your  cousin  Eve,  associated  with  a  person  hke  Kato, 
I  think  to  myself,  "Mabel,  that  is  unbecoming.'" 


136  CHALLENGE 

She  repeated,— 

'And  yet  I  have  been  told  that  I  was  too  unconven- 
tional. Yes,  Carl  has  often  reproached  me,  and  my 
friends  too.  They  say,  "Mabel,  you  are  too  soft- 
hearted, and  you  are  too  unconventional."  What  do 
you  think?' 

Julian  ignored  the  personal.     He  said, — 

'I  should  not  describe  Eve  as  a  "nice  child."* 

*No?  Well,  perhaps  not.  She  is  too  .  .  .  too  .  .  .* 
said  Fru  Thyregod,  who,  not  having  very  many  ideas 
of  her  own,  liked  to  induce  other  people  into  suppl3dng 
the  missing  adjective. 

'She  is  too  important,'  JuUan  said  gravely. 

The  adjective  in  this  case  was  unexpected.  The 
Danish  Excellency  could  only  say, — 

'I  think  I  know  what  you  mean.' 

Juhan,  perfectly  well  aware  that  she  did  not,  and 
caring  nothing  whether  she  did  or  no,  but  carelessly 
willing  to  illuminate  himself  further  on  the  subject, 
pursued, — 

'Her  frivolity  is  a  mask.  Her  instincts  alone  are 
deep;  how  deep,  it  frightens  me  to  think.  She  is  an 
artist,  although,  she  may  never  produce  art.  She  Uves 
in  a  world  of  her  own,  with  its  own  code  of  morals  and 
values.  The  Eve  that  we  all  know  is  a  sham,  the 
product  of  her  own  pride  and  humour.  She  is  laughing  at 
us  all.  The  Eve  we  know  is  entertaining,  cynical,  selfish, 
unscrupulous.  The  real  Eve  is  .  .  .'  he  paused,  and 
brought  out  his  words  with  a  satisfied  finality,  'a  rebel 
and  an  idealist.' 

Then,  glancing  at  his  bewildered  companion,  he 
laughed  and  said, — 

'  Don't  believe  a  word  I  say,  Fru  Thyregod :  Eve  is 
nineteen,  bent  only  upon  enjoying  her  Hfe  to  the 
fuU.' 

He  knew,  nevertheless,  that  he  had  swept  together 


evp:  137 

the  loose  wash  of  his  thought  into  a  concrete  channel; 
and  rejoiced. 

Fru  Thyregod  passed  to  a  safer  topic.  She  liked 
Juhan,  and  understood  only  one  form  of  excitement. 

'You  bring  with  you  such  a  breath  of  freshness  and 
originahty,'  she  said,  sighing,  'into  our  stale  little  world.* 

His  newly-found  good  humour  coaxed  him  into 
responsiveness. 

'No  world  can  surely  ever  be  stale  to  you,  Fru 
Thyregod;  I  always  think  of  you  as  endowed  with 
perpetual  youth  and  gaiety.' 

'Ah,  Julian,  you  have  perfect  manners,  to  pay  so 
charming  a  compliment  to  an  old  woman  Hke  me.' 

She  neither  thought  her  world  stale  or  little,  nor 
herself  old,  but  pathos  had  often  proved  itself  of  value. 

'Everybody  knows,  Fru  Thyregod,  that  you  are  the 
life  and  soul  of  Herakleion.' 

They  had  wandered  into  a  httle  wood,  and  sat  down 
on  a  fallen  tree  beside  the  stream.  She  began  again 
prodding  at  the  ground  with  her  parasol,  keeping  her 
eyes  cast  down.  She  was  glad  to  have  captured  Juhan, 
partly  for  her  own  sake,  and  partly  because  she  knew 
that  Eve  would  be  annoyed. 

'  How  delightful  to  escape  from  aU  our  noisy  friends,' 
she  said;  'we  shall  create  quite  a  scandal;  but  I  am 
too  unconventional  to  trouble  about  that.  I  cannot 
sympathise  with  those  hmited,  conventional  folk  who 
always  consider  appearances.  I  have  always  said,  "One 
should  be  natural.  Life  is  too  short  for  the  conventions." 
Although,  I  think  one  should  refrain  from  giving  pain. 
When  I  was  a  girl,  I  was  a  terrible  tomboy.' 

He  listened  to  her  babble  of  coy  platitudes,  contrasting 
her  with  Eve. 

•.I  never  lost  my  spints,'  she  went  on,  in  the  medita- 
tive tone  she  thought  suitable  to  Ute-ci-tete  conversations 
— ^it  provoked  intimacy,  and  afforded  agreeable  relief 
C  K 


i;\S  CHALLENGE 

to  her  more  social  manner;  a  woman,  to  be  charming, 
must  be  several-sided;  gay  in  public,  but  a  little  wistfuJ 
philosophy  was  interesting  in  private;  it  indicated 
sympathy,  and  betrayed  a  thinking  mind, — 'I  never 
lost  my  spirits,  although  hfe  has  not  always  been  very 
easy  for  me;  stiU,  with  good  spirits  and  perhaps  a  little 
courage  one  can  continue  to  laugh,  isn't  that  the  way  to 
take  Hfe?  and  on  the  whole  I  have  enjoyed  mine,  and 
my  Httle  adventures  too,  my  httle  harmless  adventures; 
Carl  always  laughs  and  says,  "You  will  alwaj^s  have 
adventures,  Mabel,  so  I  must  make  the  best  of  it," — ^he 
says  that,  though  he  has  been  very  jealous  at  times. 
Poor  Carl,'  she  said  reminiscently,  'perhaps  I  have  made 
him  suffer;    who  knows?' 

Julian  looked  at  her;  he  supposed  that  her  existence 
was  made  up  of  such  experiments,  and  knew  that  the 
arrival  of  every  new  young  man  in  Herakleion  was  to 
her  a  source  of  flurry  and  endless  potentialities  which, 
alas,  never  fulfilled  their  promise,  but  which  left  her 
undaunted  and  optimistic  for  the  next  affray. 

'  Why  do  I  always  talk  about  myself  to  you  ? '  she  said, 
with  her  httle  laugh;  'you  must  blame  yourself  for 
being  too  sympathetic' 

He  scarcely  knew  how  their  conversation  progressed; 
he  wondered  idly  whether  Eve  conducted  hers  upon  the 
same  lines  with  Don  Rodrigo  Valdez,  or  whether  she  had 
been  claimed  by  Miloradovitch,  to  whom  she  said  she 
was  engaged.  Did  she  care  for  Miloradovitch?  he  was 
immensely  rich,  the  owner  of  jewels  and  oil-mines, 
remarkably  good-looking;  dashing,  and  a  gambler.  At 
diplomatic  gatherings  he  wore  a  beautiful  uniform. 
Julian  had  seen  Eve  dancing  with  him;  he  had  seen 
the  Russian  clcsel}^  following  her  out  of  a  room,  bend- 
ing forward  to  speak  to  her,  and  her  ironical  eyes 
raised  for  an  instant  over  the  slow  movement  of  her  fan. 
He    had    seen    them    disappear    together,    and    the 


EVE  139 

provocative  poise  of  her  white  shoulders,  and  the  rich- 
ness of  the  beautiful  uniform,  had  remained  imprinted 
on  his  memory. 

He  awoke  with  dismay  to  the  fact  that  Fni  Thyregod 
had  taken  off  her  hat. 

She  had  a  great  quantity  of  soft,  yellow  hair  into 
which  she  ran  her  fingers,  hfting  its  weight  as  though 
oppressed.  He  supposed  that  the  gesture  was  not  so 
irrelevant  to  their  foregoing  conversatio.i,  of  which  he 
had  not  noticed  a  word,  as  it  appeared  to  be.  He  was 
startled  to  find  himself  sajdng  in  a  tone  of  commisera- 
tion,— 

'Yes,  it  must  be  very  heavy.' 

*I  wish  that  I  could  cut  it  all  off,'  Fni  Thjn-egod  cried 
petulantly.  'Why,  to  amuse  you,  only  Took  .  .  .' 
and  to  his  horror  she  withdrew  a  number  of  pins  and 
allowed  her  hair  to  fall  in  a  really  beautiful  cascade  over 
her  shoulders.  She  smiled  at  him.  parting  the  strand?i 
before  her  eyes. 

At  that  moment  Eve  and  Miloradovitch  came  into 
view,  wandering  side  by  side  down  the  path. 

Of  the  four,  Miloradovitch  alone  was  amused.  Julian 
was  full  of  a  shamefaced  anger  towards  Fru  Thyregod, 
and  between  the  two  women  an  instant  enmity  sprang 
into  being  hke  a  hving  and  visible  thing.  The  Russian 
drew  near  to  Fru  Th3Tegod  with  some  laughing  compH- 
ment;  she  attached  herself  desperately  to  him  as  a  refuge 
from  Julian.  Julian  and  Eve  remained  face  to  face 
with  one  another. 

'Walk  with  me  a  httle,'  she  said,  making  no  attempt 
to  disguise  her  fury. 

'  My  dear  Eve,'  he  said,  when  they  were  out  of  earshot, 
'I  should  scarcely  recognise  you  when  you  put  on  that 
expression.' 

He  spoke  frigidly.  She  was  indeed  transformed,  her 
features  coarsened  and  unpleasing,  her  soft  delica/:y 


140  CHALLENGE 

vanished.    He  could  not  believe  that  he  had  ever  thou^fc 
her  rare,  exquisite,  charming. 

'I  don't  blame  you  for  preferring  Fni  Thyregod,'  shf 
returned. 

*I  beheve  your  vanity  to  be  so  great  that  you  resent 
any  man  speaking  to  any  other  woman  but  yourself/ 
he  said,  half  persuading  himself  that  he  was  voicing  a 
genuine  conviction. 

'Very  well,  if  you  choose  to  beheve  that,'  she  repUed. 

They  walked  a  little  way  in  angry  silence. 

*1  detest  all  women,'  he  added  presently. 

'  Including  me  ? ' 

'Beginning  with  you.' 

He  was  reminded  of  their  childhood  with  its  endless 
disputes,  and  made  an  attempt  to  restore  their  friendship. 

'Come,  Eve,  why  are  we  quarrelling?  I  do  not  make 
you  jealous  scenes  about  Miloradovitch.' 

'Far  from  it,'  she  said  harshly, 

'Why  should  he  want  to  marry  you?'  he  began,  his 
anger  rising  again.  '  What  qualities  have  you  ?  Clever, 
seductive,  and  entertaining  !  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
selfish,  jealous,  unkind,  pernicious,  indolent,  vain.  A 
bad  bargain.  If  he  knew  you  as  well  as  I  .  .  .  Jealousy  ! 
It  amounts  to  madness.' 

'I  am  perhaps  not  jealous  where  Miloradovitch  is 
concerned,'  she  said. 

'Then  spare  me  the  compliment  of  being  jealous  of 
me.  You  wreck  affection;  you  will  wreck  your  Ufa 
through  your  jealousy  and  exorbitance.' 

'No  doubt,*  she  replied  in  a  tone  of  so  much  sadness 
that  he  became  remorseful.  He  contrasted,  moreover, 
her  violence,  troublesome,  inconvenient,  as  it  often  was, 
with  the  standardised  and  distasteful  httle  inanities  of 
Fru  Thyregod  and  her  like,  and  found  Eve  preferable. 

'Darling,  you  never  defend  yourself;  it  is  very  di«- 
anning/ 


EVE  141 

But  she  would  not  accept  the  olive-branch  he  offered. 

'  Sentimentality  becomes  you  very  badly,  JuHan;  keep 
it  for  Fru  Thyregod.' 

'We  have  had  enough  of  Fru  Thjnregod/  he  said, 
flushing. 

'It  suits  you  to  say  so;  I  do  not  forget  so  easily. 
Really,  Julian,  sometimes  I  think  you  very  common- 
place. From  the  moment  you  arrived  until  to-day,  you 
have  never  been  out  of  Fru  Thyregod's  pocket.  Like 
Alexander,  once.     Like  any  stray  young  man.' 

'  Eve  ! '  he  said,  in  astonishment  at  the  outrageous 
accusation. 

'My  little  Juhan,  have  you  washed  the  lap-dog  to-day? 
Carl  always  says,  "Mabel,  you  are  fonder  of  your  dogs 
than  of  3^our  children — you  are  really  dreadful,"  but  I 
don't  think  that's  quite  fair,'  said  Eve,  in  so  exact  an 
imitation  of  Fru  Thyregod's  voice  and  manner  that 
Julian  was  forced  to  smile. 

She  went  on, — 

'  I  expect  too  much  of  you.  My  imagination  makes  of 
you  something  which  you  are  not.  I  so  despise  the 
common  herd  that  I  persuade  myself  that  you  are  above 
it.  I  can  persuade  myself  of  anything,'  she  said 
scathingly,  wounding  him  in  the  recesses  of  his  most 
treasured  vanity — her  good  opinion  of  him;  'I  persuade 
myself  that  you  are  a  Titan  amongst  men,  almost  a  god, 
but  in  reality,  if  I  could  see  you  without  prejudice,  what 
are  you  fit  for?    to  be  Fru  Thyregod's  lover !' 

'You  are  mad,'  he  said,  for  there  was  no  other  reply. 

'When  I  am  jealous,  I  am  mad,'  she  flung  at  him. 

'But  if  you  are  jealous  of  me  .  .  .'  he  said,  appalled. 
'Supposing  you  were  ever  in  love,  your  jealousy  would 
know  no  bounds.  It  is  a  disease.  It  is  the  ruin  of  our 
friendship.' 

'Entirely.' 

'You  are  inordinately  perverse.' 


142  CHALLENGE 

'Inordinately.' 

'Supposing  I  were  to  marry,  I  should  not  dare — ^what 
an  absurd  thought — to  introduce  you  to  my  wife.' 

A  truly  terrible  expression  came  into  her  eyes;  they 
narrowed  to  little  slits,  and  turned  slightly  inwards;  as 
though  herself  aware  of  it,  she  bent  to  pick  the  httle 
cyclamen. 

'Are  you  trying  to  teU  me,  Julian  .  .  .' 

'You  told  me  you  were  engaged  to  Miloradovitch.* 

She  stood  up,  regardless,  and  he  saw  the  tragic  pallor 
of  her  face.  She  tore  the  cyclamen  to  pieces  beneath  her 
white  fingers. 

*  It  is  true,  then  ? '  she  said,  her  voice  dead. 

He  began  to  laugh. 

'You  do  indeed  persuade  yourself  very  easily.' 

'JuUan,  you  must  tell  me.    You  must.     Is  it  true?* 

'  If  it  were  ?  ' 

'  I  should  have  to  kill  you — or  myself,'  she  rephed  with 
the  utmost  gravity. 

'You  are  mad,'  he  said  again,  in  the  resigned  tone  of 
one  who  states  a  perfectly  established  fact. 

'If  I  am  mad,  you  are  unutterably  cruel,'  she  said, 
twisting  her  fingers  together;  'will  you  answer  me,  yes 
or  no?  I  believe  it  is  true,'  she  rushed  on,  immolating 
herself,  'you  have  fallen  in  love  with  some  woman  in 
England,  and  she,  naturally,  with  you.  Who  is  she? 
You  have  promised  to  marry  her.  You,  whom  I  thought 
so  free  and  splendid,  to  load  yourself  with  the  inevitable 
fetters  ! ' 

'  I  should  lose  caste  in  your  eyes  ? '  he  asked,  thinking 
to  himself  that  Eve  was,  when  roused,  scarcely  a 
civilised  being.  'But  if  you  marry  Miloradovitch  you 
will  be  submitting  to  the  same  fetters  you  think  so 
degrading.' 

'Miloradovitch,'  she  said  impatiently,  'Miloradovitch 
will  no  more  ensnare  me  than  have  the  score  of  people 


EVE  143 

I  have  been  engaged  to  since  I  last  saw  you.  You  are 
still  evading  your  answer.' 

'  You  will  never  marry  ? '  he  dwelt  on  his  discovery. 

'Nobody  that  I  loved,'  she  repHed  without  hesitation, 
'but,  Julian,  Julian,  you  don't  answer  my  question?' 

'Would  you  marry  me  if  I  wanted  you  to? '  he  asked 
carelessly. 

'Not  for  the  world,  but  why  keep  me  in  suspense? 
only  answer  me,  are  you  trying  to  tell  me  that  you  have 
faUen  in  love?  if  so,  admit  it,  please,  at  once,  and  let 
me  go;  don't  you  see,  I  am  leaving  Fru  Thyregod  on 
one  side,  I  ask  you  in  all  humility  now,  Juhan.' 

'  For  perhaps  the  fiftieth  time  since  you  were  thirteen,' 
he  said,  smiling. 

'Have  you  tormented  me  long  enough?' 

'Very  well :  I  am  in  love  with  the  Islands,  and  with 
nothing  and  nobody  else.' 

'  Then  why  had  Fru  Thyregod  her  hair  down  her  back  ? 
you're  lying  to  me,  and  I  despise  you  doubly  for  it,'  she 
reverted,  humble  no  longer,  but  aggressive. 

'  Fru  Thyregod  again  ? '  he  said,  bewildered. 

'How  httle  I  trust  you,'  she  broke  out;  'I  believe 
that  you  deceive  me  at  every  turn.  Kato,  too;  you 
spend  hours  in  Kato's  fiat.  What  do  you  do  there? 
You  write  letters  to  people  of  whom  I  have  never  heard. 
You  dined  with  the  Thyregods  twice  last  week.  Kato 
sends  you  notes  by  hand  from  Herakleion  when  you  are 
in  the  country.  You  use  the  Islands  as  dust  to  throw 
in  my  eyes,  but  I  am  not  blinded.' 

'  I  have  had  enough  of  this  ! '  he  cried. 

'You  are  like  everybody  else,'  she  insisted;  'you 
enjoy  mean  entanglements,  and  you  cherish  the  idea  of 
marriage.  You  want  a  home,  like  everybody  else.  A 
faithful  wife.  Children.  I  loathe  children,'  she  said 
violently.  'You  are  very  different  from  me.  You  are 
tame.    I  have  deluded  myself  into  thinking  we  were  alike. 


144  CHAJXENGE 

You  are  tame,  respectable.  A  good  citizen.  You  have 
all  the  virtues.  I  will  live  to  show  you  how  different  we 
are.  Ten  years  hence,  you  will  say  to  your  wife,  "No, 
my  dear,  I  really  cannot  allow  you  to  know  that  poor 
Eve."  And  your  wife,  well  trained,  submissive,  will 
agree.' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  accustomed  to  such  storms, 
and  knowing  that  she  only  sought  to  goad  him  into  a 
rage. 

'In  the  meantime,  go  back  to  Fru  Thyregod;  why 
trouble  to  lie  to  me?  And  to  Kato,  go  back  to  Kato. 
Write  to  the  woman  in  England,  too.  I  will  go  to 
Miloradovitch,  or  to  any  of  the  others.' 

He  was  betrayed  into  saying, — 

'The  accusation  of  mean  entanglements  comes  badly 
from  your  lips.' 

In  her  heart  she  guessed  pretty  shrewdly  at  his  real 
relation  towards  women  :  a  self-imposed  austerity,  with 
violent  relapses  that  had  no  lasting  significance,  save  to 
leave  him  with  his  contemptuous  distaste  augmented. 
His  mind  was  too  full  of  other  matters.  For  Kato  alone 
he  had  a  profound  esteem. 

Eve  answered  his  last  remark, — 

'  I  will  prove  to  you  the  little  weight  of  my  entangle- 
ments, by  dismissing  Miloradovitch  to-day;  you  have 
only  to  say  the  word.' 

'You  would  do  that — without  remorse?' 

'Miloradovitch  is  nothing  to  me.' 

'You  are  some'thing  to  him — perhaps  everything.' 

'Cela  ne  me  regarde  pas,'  she  rephed.  'Would  you 
do  as  much  for  me?  Fru  Thyregod,  for  instance?  or 
Kato?' 

Interested  and  curious,  he  said, — 

'To  please  you,  I  should  give  up  Kato?' 

'You  would  not?' 

*  Most  certainly  I  should  not.    Why  suggest  it?    Kato 


EVE  145 

is  your  friend  as  much  as  mine.  Are  all  women's  friend- 
ships so  unstable  ? ' 

'Be  careful,  Julian  :    you  are  on  the  quicksands.' 

'I  have  had  enough  of  these  topics,'  he  said,  'will 
you  leave  them  ? ' 

'No;  I  choose  my  own  topics;  you  shan't  dictate 
to  me.' 

*  You  would  sacrifice  Miloradovitch  without  a  thought, 
to  please  me — why  should  it  please  me  ? — but  you  would 
not  forgo  the  indulgence  of  your  jealousy  !  I  am  not 
grateful.  Our  senseless  quarrels,'  he  said,  'over  which 
we  squander  so  much  anger  and  emotion.'  But  he  did 
not  stop  to  question  what  lay  behind  their  important 
futihty.  He  passed  his  hand  wearily  over  his  hair, 
*I  am  deluded  sometimes  into  beUeving  in  their  reahty 
and  sanity.  You  are  too  difficult.  You  .  .  .  you  dis- 
tort and  bewitch,  until  one  expects  to  wake  up  from  a 
dream.  Sometimes  I  think  of  you  as  a  woman  quite 
apart  from  other  women,  but  at  other  times  I  think  you 
hve  merely  by  and  upon  fictitious  emotion  and  excite- 
ment. Must  your  outlook  be  always  so  narrowly 
personal?  Kato,  thank  Heaven,  is  very  different.  I 
shall  take  care  to  choose  my  friends  amongst  men,  or 
amongst  women  Hke  Kato,'  he  continued,  his  exaspera- 
tion rising. 

'  Juhan,  don't  be  so  angry  :  it  isn't  my  fault  that  I 
hate  pohtics. 

He  grew  still  angrier  at  her  illogical  short-cut  to  the 
reproach  which  lay,  indeed,  unexpressed  at  the  back 
of  his  mind. 

'  I  never  mentioned  pohtics.  I  know  better.  No  man 
in  his  senses  would  expect  politics  from  any  woman  so 
demoralisingly  feminine  as  yourself.  Besides,  that  isn't 
your  role.  Your  role  is  to  be  soft,  idle;  a  toy;  a  siren; 
the  negation  of  enterprise.  Work  and  woman — the  terms 
contradict  one  another.   The  woman  who  works,  or  who 


146  CHALLENGE 

tolerates  work,  is  only  half  a  woman.  The  most  you 
can  hope  for,'  he  said  with  scom,  'is  to  inspire — and 
even  that  you  do  unconsciously,  and  very  often  quite 
against  your  wiU.  You  sap  our  energy;  you  sap  and 
you  destroy.' 

She  had  not  often  heard  him  speak  with  so  much 
bitterness,  but  she  did  not  know  that  his  opinions  in 
this  more  crystallised  form  dated  from  that  slight 
moment  in  which  he  had  divined  her  own  untrustworthi- 
ness. 

'  You  are  very  wise.  I  forget  whether  you  are  twenty- 
two  or  twenty-three  ? ' 

'Oh,  you  may  be  sarcastic.  I  only  know  that  I  will 
never  have  my  life  wrecked  by  women.  To-morrow  the 
elections  take  place,  and,  after  that,  whatever  their 
result,  I  belong  to  the  Islands.' 

'I  think  I  see  you  with  a  certain  clearness,'  she  said 
more  gently,  'full  of  illusions,  independence,  and  young 
generosities — nous  passons  ious  par  Id.' 

'Talk  Enghsh,  Eve,  and  be  less  cynical;  if  I  am 
twenty-two,  as  you  reminded  me,  you  are  nineteen.' 

'  If  you  could  find  a  woman  who  was  a  help  and  not 
a  hindrance?'  she  suggested. 

'  Ah  ! '  he  said,  '  the  Blue  Bird  !  I  am  not  Hkely  to 
be  taken  in;  I  am  too  well  on  my  guard. — Look  !'  he 
added,  'Fru  Thyregod  and  your  Russian  friend;  I  leave 
you  to  them,'  and  before  Eve  could  voice  her  indigna- 
tion he  had  disappeared  into  the  surrounding  woods. 


IV 

On  the  next  day,  the  day  of  the  elections,  which  was 
also  the  anniversary  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
Herakleion  blossomed  suddenly,  and  from  the  earliest 
hour,  into  a  striped  and  fluttering  gaudiness.  The 
sun  shone  down  upon  a  white  town  beflagged  into  an 
astonishing  gaiety.  Everywhere  was  whiteness,  white- 
ness, and  brilliantly  coloured  flags.  White,  green, 
and  orange,  dazzling  in  the  sun,  vivid  in  the  breeze. 
And,  keyed  up  to  match  the  intensity  of  the  colour, 
the  band  blared  brassily,  unremittingly,  throughout 
the  day  from  the  centre  of  the  platia. 

A  parrot-town,  glaring  and  screeching;  a  monkey- 
town,  gibbering,  excited,  inconsequent.  All  the  shops, 
save  the  sweet-shops,  were  shut,  and  the  inhabitants 
flooded  into  the  streets.  Not  only  had  they  decked 
their  houses  with  flags,  they  had  also  decked  them- 
selves with  ribbons,  their  women  with  white  dresses, 
their  children  with  bright  bows,  their  carriages  with 
paper  streamers,  their  horses  with  sunbonnets.  Bands 
of  young  men,  straw-hatted,  swept  arm-in-arm  down 
the  pavements,  adding  to  the  din  with  mouth  organs, 
mirlitons,  and  tin  trumpets.  The  trams  flaunted 
posters  in  the  colours  of  the  contending  parties. 
Immense  char-^-bancs,  roofed  over  with  brown  holland 
and  drawn  by  teams  of  mules,  their  harness  hung  with 
bells  and  red  tassels,  conveyed  the  voters  to  the  polling- 
booths  amid  the  cheers  and  imprecations  of  the  crowd. 

Herakleion  abandoned  itself  dehriously  to  pohtical 
carnival. 

In  the  immense,  darkened  rooms  of  the  houses  on 
teh   platia,   the  richer  Greeks  idled,   concealing  their 

H7 


148  CHALLENGE 

anxiety.  It  was  tacitly  considered  beneath  their 
dignity  to  show  themselves  in  public  during  that  day. 
They  could  but  await  the  fruition  or  the  failure  of 
their  activities  during  the  preceding  weeks.  Heads  of 
households  were  for  the  most  part  morose,  absorbed 
in  calculations  and  regrets.  Old  Christopoulos,  looking 
more  bleached  than  usual,  wished  he  had  been  more 
generous.  That  secretaryship  for  Alexander  ...  In 
the  great  sala  of  his  house  he  paced  restlessly  up  and 
down,  biting  his  finger  nails,  and  playing  on  his  fingers 
the  tune  of  the  many  thousand  drachmae  he  might 
profitably  have  expended.  The  next  election  would 
not  take  place  for  five  years.  At  the  next  election  he 
would  be  a  great  deal  more  lavish. 

He  had  made  the  same  resolution  at  every  election 
during  the  past  thirty  years. 

In  the  background,  respectful  of  his  silence,  them- 
selves dwarfed  and  diminutive  in  the  immense  height 
of  the  room,  little  knots  of  his  relatives  and  friends 
whispered  together,  stirring  cups  of  tisane.  Heads 
were  very  close  together,  glances  at  old  Christopoulos 
very  frequent.  Visitors,  isolated  or  in  couples,  strolled 
in  unannounced  and  informally,  stayed  for  a  little, 
strolled  away  again.  A  perpetual  movement  of  such 
circulation  rippled  through  the  houses  in  the  platia 
throughout  the  day,  rumour  assiduous  in  its  wake. 
Fru  Thyregod  alone,  with  her  fat,  silly  laugh,  did  her 
best  wherever  she  went  to  lighten  the  funereal  oppres- 
sion of  the  atmosphere.  The  Greeks  she  visited  were 
not  grateful.  Unlike  the  populace  in  the  streets,  they 
preferred  taking  their  elections  mournfully. 

By  midday  the  business  of  voting  was  over,  and  in 
the  houses  of  the  platia  the  Greeks  sat  round  their 
luncheon-tables  with  the  knowledge  that  the  vital 
question  was  now  decided,  though  the  answer  remained 
as  yet  unknown,   and  that  in  the  polling-booths  an 


EVE  149 

army  of  clerks  sat  feverishly  counting,  while  the 
crowd  outside,  neglectful  of  its  meal,  swarmed  noisily 
in  the  hope  of  news.  In  the  houses  of  the  platia,  on 
this  one  day  of  the  year,  the  Greeks  kept  open  table. 
Each  vast  dining-room,  carefully  darkened  and  indis- 
tinguishable in  its  family  hkeness  from  its  neighbour 
in  the  house  on  either  side,  offered  its  hospitahty  under 
the  inevitable  chandeher.  In  each,  the  host  greeted 
the  new-comer  with  the  same  perfunctory  smile.  In 
each,  the  busy  servants  came  and  went,  carrying 
dishes  and  jugs  of  orangeade — for  Levantine  hospi- 
tality, already  heavily  strained,  boggled  at  wine — 
among  the  bulky  and  old-fashioned  sideboards.  All 
joyousness  was  absent  from  these  gatherings,  and  the 
closed  shutters  served  to  exclude,  not  only  the  heat, 
but  also  the  strains  of  the  indefatigable  band  playing 
on  the  platia. 

Out  in  the  streets  the  popular  excitement  hourly 
increased,  for  if  the  morning  had  been  devoted  to 
politics,  the  afternoon  and  evening  were  to  be  devoted 
to  the  annual  feast  and  hohday  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence.  The  national  colours,  green  and  orange, 
seemed  trebled  in  the  town.  They  hung  from  every 
balcony  and  were  reproduced  in  miniature  in  every 
buttonhole.  Only  here  and  there  an  islander  in  his 
fustanelle  walked  quickly  with  sulky  and  averted 
eyes,  rebelhously  innocent  of  the  brilliant  cocarde, 
and  far  out  to  sea  the  rainbow  islands  shimmered  with 
never  a  flag  to  stain  the  distant  whiteness  of  the  houses 
upon  Aphros. 

The  houses  of  the  platia  excelled  all  others  in  the 
lavishness  of  their  patriotic  decorations.  The  balconies 
of  the  club  were  draped  in  green  and  orange,  with  the 
arms  of  Herakleion  arranged  in  the  centre  in  electric 
lights  for  the  evening  illumination.  The  ItaUan 
Consulate  drooped  its  complimentary  flag.    The  house 


150  CHALLENGE 

of  Platon  Malteios — Premier  or  ex-Premier?  no  one 
knew — was  almost  too  ostentatiously  patriotic.  The 
cathedral,  on  the  opposite  side,  had  its  steps  carpeted 
with  red  and  the  spaciousness  of  its  porch  festooned 
with  the  colours.  From  the  central  window  of  the 
Davenant  house,  opposite  the  sea,  a  single  listless 
banner  hung  in  motionless  folds. 

It  had,  earlier  in  the  day,  occasioned  a  controversy. 

Julian  had  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  frescoed  drawing- 
room,  flushed  and  constrained. 

'Father,  that  flag  on  our  house  insults  the  Islands. 
It  can  be  seen  even  from  Aphros  ! ' 

'My  dear  boy,  better  that  it  should  be  seen  from 
Aphros  than  that  we  should  offend  Herakleion,' 

'  What  will  the  islanders  think  ?  ' 

'They  are  accustomed  to  seeing  it  there  every 
year.' 

'If  I  had  been  at  home  .  .  .' 

'When  this  house  is  yours,  Julian,  you  will  no  doubt 
do  as  you  please;  so  long  as  it  is  mine,  I  beg  you  not 
to  interfere.' 

Mr  Davenant  had  spoken  in  his  curtest  tones.  He 
had  added, — 

'I  shall  go  to  the  cathedral  this  afternoon.' 

The  service  in  the  cathedral  annually  celebrated 
the  independence  of  Herakleion.  Julian  slipped  out 
of  the  house,  meaning  to  mix  with  the  ill-regulated 
crowd  that  began  to  collect  on  the  piatia  to  watch  for 
the  arrival  of  the  notables,  but  outside  the  door  of 
the  club  he  was  discovered  by  Alexander  Christopoulos 
who  obhged  him  to  follow  him  upstairs  to  the  Christo- 
poulos drawing-room. 

'My  father  is  really  too  gloomy  for  me  to  confront 
alone,'  Alexander  said,  taking  Julian's  arm  and  urging 
him  along;  'also  I  have  spent  the  morning  in  the  club, 
which  exasperates  him.     He  hkes  me  to  sit  at  home 


EVE  151 

while  he  stands  looking  at  me  and  mournfully  shaking 
his  head.' 

They  came  into  the  sala  together,  where  old  Christo- 
poulos  paced  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  shuttered 
windows,  and  a  score  of  other  people  sat  whispering 
over  their  cups  of  tisane.  White  dresses,  dim  mirrors, 
and  the  dull  gilt  of  furniture  gleamed  here  and  there 
in  the  shadows  of  the  vast  room. 

'Any  news?  any  news?'  the  banker  asked  of  the 
two  young  men. 

'You  know  quite  well,  father,  that  no  results  are  to 
be  declared  until  seven  o'clock  this  evening.' 

Alexander  opened  a  section  of  a  Venetian  blind, 
and  as  a  shaft  of  sunlight  fell  startlingly  across  the 
floor  a  blare  of  music  burst  equally  startlingly  upon 
the  silence. 

'The  platia  is  crowded  already,'  said  Alexander, 
looking  out. 

The  hum  of  the  crowd  became  audible,  mingled 
with  the  music;  explosions  of  laughter,  and  some 
unexplained  applause.  The  shrill  cry  of  a  seller  of 
iced  water  rang  immediately  beneath  the  window. 
The  band  in  the  centre  continued  to  shriek  remorse- 
lessly an  antiquated  air  of  the  Paris  boulevards. 

'  At  what  time  is  the  procession  due  ? '  asked  Fru 
Thyregood  over  Julian's  shoulder. 

'At  five  o'clock;  it  should  arrive  at  any  moment,' 
Juhan  said,  making  room  for  the  Danish  Excellency. 

'I  adore  processions,'  cried  Fru  Thyregod,  clapping 
her  hands,  and  looking  brightly  from  Juhan  to 
Alexander. 

Alexander  whispered  to  Juhe  Lafarge,  who  had 
come  up, — 

'I  am  sure  Fru  Th5n:egod  has  gone  from  house  to 
house  and  from  Legation  to  Legation,  and  has  had  a 
meal  at  each  to-day.' 


152  CHALLENGE 

Somebody  suggested, — 

'Let  us  open  the  shutters  and  watch  the  procession 
from  the  balconies.' 

'  Oh,  what  a  good  idea ! '  cried  Fru  Thjn^egod, 
clapping  her  hands  again  and  executing  a  pirouette. 

Down  in  the  platia  an  indefinite  movement  was 
taking  place;  the  band  stopped  playing  for  the  first 
time  that  day,  and  began  shuffling  with  all  its  instru- 
ments to  one  side.  Voices  were  then  heard  raised  in 
tones  of  authority.  A  cleavage  appeared  in  the  crowd, 
which  grew  in  length  and  width  as  though  a  wedge 
were  being  gradually  driven  into  that  reluctant  con- 
fusion of  humanity. 

*A  path  for  the  procession,'  said  old  Christopoulos, 
who,  although  not  pleased  at  that  frivolous  flux  of 
his  family  and  guests  on  to  the  balconies  of  his  house, 
had  joined  them,  overcome  by  his  natural  curiosity. 

The  path  cut  in  the  crowd  now  ran  obliquely  across 
the  platia  from  the  end  of  the  rue  Royale  to  the  steps 
of  the  cathedral  opposite,  and  upon  it  the  confetti 
with  which  the  whole  platia  was  no  doubt  strewn  became 
visible.  The  police,  with  truncheons  in  their  hands, 
were  pressing  the  people  back  to  widen  the  route  still 
further.  They  wore  their  gala  hats,  three-cornered, 
with  upright  plumes  of  green  and  orange  nodding  £is 
they  walked. 

'Look  at  Sterghiou,'  said  Alexander. 

The  Chief  of  Police  rode  vaingloriously  down  the 
route  looking  from  left  to  right,  and  saluting  with  his 
free  hand.  The  front  of  his  uniform  was  crossed  with 
broad  gold  hinges,  and  plaits  of  yellow  braid  dis- 
appeared mysteriously  into  various  pockets.  One 
deduced  whistles;  pencils;  perhaps  a  knife.  Although 
he  did  not  wear  feathers  in  his  hat,  one  knew  that  only 
the  utmost  self-restraint  had  preserved  him  from  them. 

Here   the   band   started   again  with   a  march,   and 


EVE  153 

Sterghiou's  horse  shied  violently  and  nearly  unseated 
him. 

'  The  troops  ! '  said  old  Christopoulos  with  emotion. 

Debouching  from  the  rue  Royale,  the  army  came 
marching  four  abreast.  As  it  was  composed  of  only 
four  hundred  men,  and  as  it  never  appeared  on  any 
other  day  of  the  year,  its  general  Panaioannou  always 
mobihsed  it  in  its  entirety  on  the  national  festival. 
This  entailed  the  temporary  closing  of  the  casino  in 
order  to  release  the  croupiers,  who  were  nearly  all  in 
the  ranks,  and  led  to  a  yearly  dispute  between  the 
General  and  the  board  of  administration. 

'There  was  once  a  croupier,'  said  Alexander,  'who 
was  admitted  to  the  favour  of  a  certain  grand-duchess 
until  the  day  when,  indiscreetly  coming  into  the 
dressing-room  where  the  lady  was  arranging  and  im- 
proving her  appearance,  he  said,  through  sheer  force 
of  habit,  "  Madame,  les  yeux  sont  faits?  "  and  was 
dismissed  for  ever  by  her  reply,  "  Rien  ne  va  plus."' 

The  general  himself  rode  in  the  midst  of  his  troops, 
in  his  sky-blue  uniform,  to  which  the  fantasy  of  his 
Buda-Pesth  costumier  had  added  for  the  occasion 
a  slung  Hussar  jacket  of  white  cloth.  His  gray  mous- 
tache was  twisted  fiercely  upwards,  and  curved  Uke 
a  scimitar  across  his  face.  He  rode  with  his  hand  on 
his  hip,  slowly  scanning  the  windows  and  balconies 
of  the  plaiia,  which  by  now  were  crowded  with  people, 
gravely  saluting  his  friends  as  he  passed.  Around  him 
marched  his  bodyguard  of  six,  a  captain  and  five  men; 
the  captain  carried  in  one  hand  a  sword,  and  in  the 
other — nobody  knew  why — a  long  frond  of  palm. 

The  entire  army  tramped  by,  hot,  stout,  beaming, 
and  friendly.  At  one  moment  some  one  threw  down 
a  handful  of  coins  from  a  window,  and  the  ranks  were 
broken  in  a  scramble  for  the  coppers.  JuHan,  who 
was  leaning  apart  in  a  comer  of  his  balcony,  heard  a 

C.  L 


154  CHALLENGE 

laugh  like  a  growl  behind  him  as  the  enormous  hand 
of   Grbits   descended  on  his   shoulder. 

'  Remember  the  lesson,  young  man :  if  you  are 
called  upon  to  deal  with  the  soldiers  of  Herakleion,  a 
fistful  of  silver  amongst  them  wiU  scatter  them.' 

Julian  thought  apprehensively  that  they  must  be 
overheard,  but  Grbits  continued  in  supreme  uncon- 
sciousness,— 

'Look  at  their  army,  composed  of  shop-assistants 
and  croupiers.  Look  at  their  general — a  general  in 
his  spare  moments,  but  in  the  serious  business  of  his 
life  a  banker  and  an  intriguer  like  the  rest  of  them. 
I  doubt  whether  he  has  ever  seen  anything  more  dead 
in  his  life  than  a  dead  dog  in  a  gutter.  I  could  pick 
him  up  and  squash  in  his  head  like  an  egg.' 

Grbits  extended  his  arm  and  slowly  unfolded  the 
fingers  of  his  enormous  hand.  At  the  same  time  he 
gave  his  great  laugh  that  was  hke  the  laugh  of  a  good- 
humoured  ogre. 

'At  your  service,  young  man,'  he  said,  displa5dng 
the  full  breadth  of  his  palm  to  Julian,  'whenever  you 
stand  in  need  of  it.  The  Stavridists  wiU  be  returned 
to-day;    lose  no  time;    show  them  your  intentions.' 

He  impelled  Julian  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  balcony 
and  pointed  across  to  the  Davenant  house. 

'That  flag,  young  man  :  see  to  it  that  it  disappears 
within  the  hour  after  the  results  of  the  elections  are 
announced.' 

The  army  was  forming  itself  into  two  phalanxes  on 
either  side  of  the  cathedral  steps.  Panaioannou  cara- 
coled up  and  down  shouting  his  orders,  which  were 
taken  up  and  repeated  by  the  busy  officers  on  foot. 
Meanwhile  the  notables  in  black  coats  were  arriving 
in  a  constant  stream  that  flowed  into  the  cathedral; 
old  Christopoulos  had  already  left  the  house  to  attend 
the    rehgious    ceremony;     the    foreign    Ministers    and 


EVE  155 

Consuls  attended  out  of  compliment  to  Herakleion; 
Madame  Lafarge  had  rolled  down  the  route  in  her 
barouche  with  her  bearded  husband;  Malteios  had 
crossed  the  platia  from  his  own  house,  and  Stavridis 
came,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  daughters.  Still 
the  band  played  on,  the  crowd  laughed,  cheered,  or 
murmured  in  derision,  and  the  strident  cries  of  the 
water-sellers  rose  from  all  parts  of  the  platia. 

Suddenly  the  band  ceased  to  play,  and  in  the  hush 
only  the  hum  of  the  crowd  continued  audible. 

The  religious  procession  came  walking  very  slowly 
from  the  rue  Royale,  headed  by  a  banner  and  by  a 
file  of  young  girls,  walking  two  by  two,  in  white  dresses, 
with  wreaths  of  roses  on  their  heads.  As  they  walked 
they  scattered  sham  roses  out  of  baskets,  the  gesture 
reminiscent  of  the  big  picture  in  the  Senate-room. 
It  was  customary  for  the  Premier  of  the  Republic  to 
walk  alone,  following  these  young  girls,  black  and 
grave  in  his  frock-coat  after  their  virginal  white,  but 
on  this  occasion,  as  no  one  knew  who  the  actual  Premier 
was,  a  blank  space  was  left  to  represent  the  problematical 
absentee.  Following  the  space  came  the  Premier's 
habitual  escort,  a  posse  of  police;  it  should  have  been 
a  platoon  of  soldiers,  but  Panaioannou  always  refused 
to  consent  to  such  a  diminution  of  his  army. 

'They  say,'  Grbits  remarked  to  JuHan  in  this  con- 
nection, 'that  the  general  withdraws  even  the  sentries 
from  the  frontier  to  swell  his  ranks.' 

'  Herakleion  is  open  to  invasion,'  said  Julian,  smiling. 

Grbits  repHed  sententiously,  with  the  air  of  one 
creating  a  new  proverb, — 

'Herakleion  is  open  to  invasion,  but  who  wants  to 
invade  Herakleion?' 

The  crowd  watched  the  passage  of  the  procession 
with  the  utmost  solemnity.  Not  a  sound  was  now 
heard   but   the   monotonous   step   of   feet.     Religious 


156  CHALLENGE 

awe  had  hushed  poHtical  hilarity.  Archbishop  and 
bishops;  archmandrites  and  papas  of  the  country 
districts,  passed  in  a  minghng  of  scarlet,  purple  and 
black.  All  the  pomp  of  Herakleion  had  been  pressed 
into  service — all  the  clamorous,  pretentious  pomp, 
shouting  for  recognition,  beating  on  a  hollow  drum; 
designed  to  impress  the  crowd;  and  perhaps,  also, 
to  impress,  beyond  the  crowd,  the  silent  Islands  that 
possessed  no  army,  no  clergy,  no  worldly  trappings,  but 
that  suffered  and  struggled  uselessly,  pitiably,  against 
the  tinsel  tyrant  in  vain  but  indestructible  rebellion. 

As  five  o'clock  drew  near,  the  entire  population 
seemed  to  be  collected  in  the  platia.  The  white  streak 
that  had  marked  the  route  of  the  procession  had  long 
ago  disappeared,  and  the  square  was  now,  seen  from 
above,  only  a  dense  and  shifting  mass  of  people.  In 
the  Christopoulos  drawing-room,  where  Julian  still 
lingered,  talking  to  Grbits  and  listening  to  the  alternate 
fooUshness,  fanaticism,  and  ferocious  good-humour  of 
the  giant,  the  Greeks  rallied  in  numbers  with  only  one 
topic  on  their  hps.  Old  Christopoulos  was  frankly 
biting  his  nails  and  glancing  at  the  clock;  Alexander 
but  thinly  concealed  his  anxiety  under  a  dribble  of 
his  usual  banter.  The  band  had  ceased  playing,  and 
the  subtle  ear  could  detect  an  inflection  in  the  very 
murmur  of  the  crowd. 

'Let  us  go  on  to  the  balcony  again,'  Grbits  said  to 
Julian;  'the  results  will  be  announced  from  the  steps 
of  Malteios'  house.' 

They  went  out;  some  of  the  Greeks  followed  them, 
and  all  pressed  behind,  near  the  window  openings. 

'  It  is  a  more  than  usually  decisive  day  for  Herakleion,' 
said  old  Christopoulos,  and  JuHan  knew  that  the  words 
were  spoken  at,  although  not  to,  him. 

He  felt   that   the   Greeks  looked  upon  him   as  an 


EVE  157 

intruder,  wishing  him  away  so  that  they  might  express 
their  opinions  freely,  but  in  a  spirit  of  contrariness 
he  remained  obstinately. 

A  shout  went  up  suddenly  from  the  crowd  :  a  little 
man  dressed  in  black,  with  a  top-hat,  and  a  great 
many  white  papers  in  his  hand,  had  appeared  in  the 
frame  of  Malteios'  front-door.  He  stood  on  the  steps, 
coughed  nervously,  and  dropped  his  papers. 

'  Inefficient  little  rat  of  a  secretary  ! '  cried  Alexander 
in  a  burst  of  fury. 

'  Listen  !  '  said  Grbits. 

A  long  pause  of  silence  from  the  whole  platia,  in 
which  one  thin  voice  quavered,  reaching  only  the  front 
row  of  the  crowd. 

'Stavridis  has  it,'  Grbits  said  quietly,  who  had 
been  craning  over  the  edge  of  the  balcony.  His  eyes 
twinkled  maliciously,  dehghtedly,  at  JuUan  across 
the  group  of  mortified  Greeks.  'An  immense  majority,' 
he  invented,  enjoying  himself. 

Julian  was  already  gone.  Shpping  behind  old 
Christopoulos,  whose  saffron  face  had  turned  a  dirty 
plum  colour,  he  made  his  way  downstairs  and  out 
into  the  street.  A  species  of  riot,  in  which  the  police, 
having  failed  successfully  to  intervene,  were  enthusi- 
astically joining,  had  broken  out  in  the  platia.  Some 
shouted  for  Stavridis,  some  for  Malteios;  some  raOed 
derisively  against  the  Islands.  People  threw  their 
hats  into  the  air,  waved  their  arms,  and  kicked  up 
their  legs.  Some  of  them  were  vague  as  to  the  trend 
of  their  own  opinions,  others  extremely  determined, 
but  all  were  agreed  about  making  as  much  noise  as 
possible.  Julian  passed  unchallenged  to  his  father's 
house. 

Inside  the  door  he  found  Aristotle  talking  with 
three  islanders.  They  laid  hold  of  him,  urgent  though 
respectful,  searching  his  face  with  eager  eyes. 


158  CHALLENGE 

'It  means  revolt  at  last;  you  will  not  desert  us, 
Kyrie?' 

He  replied, — 

'Come  with  me,  and  you  will  see.* 

They  followed  him  up  the  stairs,  pressing  closely 
after  him.  On  the  landing  he  met  Eve  and  Kato, 
coming  out  of  the  drawing-room.  The  singer  was 
flushed,  two  gold  wheat-ears  trembled  in  her  hair,  and 
she  had  thrown  open  the  front  of  her  dress.  Eve  hung 
on  her  arm. 

'Julian!'  Kato  exclaimed,  'you  have  heard,  Platon 
has  gone  ? ' 

In  her  excitement  she  inadvertently  used  Malteios' 
Christian  name. 

'  It  means,'  he  replied,  '  that  Stavridis,  now  in  power, 
will  lose  no  time  in  bringing  against  the  Islands  all 
the  iniquitous  reforms  we  know  he  contemplates. 
It  means  that  the  first  step  must  be  taken  by  us.' 

His  use  of  the  pronoun  ranged  himself,  Kato, 
Aristotle,  the  three  islanders,  and  the  invisible  Islands 
into  an  instant  confederacy.     Kato  responded  to  it, — 

'Thank  God  for  this.' 

They  waited  in  complete  conj&dence  for  his  next 
words.  He  had  shed  his  aloofness,  and  all  his  ef&ciency 
of  active  leadership  was  to  the  fore. 

'Where  is  my  father?' 

'He  went  to  the  Cathedral;  he  has  not  come  home 
yet,  Kyrie.' 

Julian  passed  into  the  drawing-room,  followed  by 
Eve  and  Kato  and  the  four  men.  Outside  the  open 
window,  fastened  to  the  balcony,  flashed  the  green 
and  orange  flag  of  Herakleion.  Julian  took  a  knife 
from  his  pocket,  and,  cutting  the  cord  that  held  it, 
withdrew  flag  and  flag-staff  into  the  room  and  flung 
it  on  to  the  ground. 

'Take  it  away,'  he  said  to  the  islanders,   'or  my 


EVE  159 

father  will  order  it  to  be  replaced.  And  if  he  orders 
another  to  be  hung  out  in  its  place,'  he  added,  looking 
at  them  with  severity,  'remember  there  is  no  other 
flag  in  the  house,  and  none  to  be  bought  in  Herakleion.' 

At  that  moment  a  servant  from  the  country-house 
came  hurriedly  into  the  room,  drew  JuHan  unceremoni- 
ously aside,  and  broke  into  an  agitated  recital  in  a 
low  voice.     Eve  heard  JuUan  sajdng, — 

'Nicolas  sends  for  me?  But  he  should  have  given 
a  reason.  I  cannot  come  now,  I  cannot  leave  Herak- 
leion.' 

And  the  servant, — 

'Kyrie,  the  major-domo  impressed  upon  me  that  I 
must  on  no  account  return  without  you.  Something 
has  occurred,  something  serious.  What  it  is  I  do  not 
know.  The  carriage  is  waiting  at  the  back  entrance; 
we  could  not  drive  across  the  platia  on  account  of  the 
crowds.' 

'I  shall  have  to  go,  I  suppose,'  JuHan  said  to  Eve 
and  Kato.  '  I  will  go  at  once,  and  will  return,  if  possible, 
this  evening.  Nicolas  would  not  send  without  an 
excellent  reason,  though  he  need  not  have  made  this 
mystery.  Possibly  a  message  from  Aphros  ...  In 
any  case,  I  must  go.' 

'I  will  come  with  you,'  Eve  said  unexpectedly. 


In  almost  unbroken  silence  they  drove  out  to  the 
country-house,  in  a  hired  victoria,  to  the  quick,  .soft 
trot  of  the  two  little  lean  horses,  away  from  the  heart  of 
the  noisy  town;  past  the  race-course  with  its  empty 
stands;  under  the  ilex-avenue  in  a  tunnel  of  cool 
darkness;  along  the  road,  redolent  with  magnolias 
in  the  warmth  of  the  evening;  through  the  village, 
between  the  two  white  lodges;  and  round  the  bend  of 
the  drive  between  the  bushes  of  eucalyptus.  Eve  had 
spoken,  but  he  had  said  abruptly, — 

'Don't  talk;  I  want  to  think,'  and  she,  after  a 
little  gasp  of  astonished  indignation,  had  relapsed 
languorous  into  her  comer,  her  head  propped  on 
her  hand,  and  her  profile  alone  visible  to  her  cousin. 
He  saw,  in  the  brief  glance  that  he  vouchsafed  her, 
that  her  red  mouth  looked  more  than  usually  sulky, 
in  fact  not  unlike  the  mouth  of  a  child  on  the  point 
of  tears,  a  very  invitation  to  inquiry,  but,  more  from 
indifference  than  deliberate  wisdom,  he  was  not 
disposed  to  take  up  the  challenge.  He  too  sat  silent, 
his  thoughts  flying  over  the  day,  weighing  the 
consequences  of  his  own  action,  trying  to  forecast 
the  future.  He  was  far  away  from  Eve,  and  she  knew 
it.  At  times  he  enraged  and  exasperated  her  almost 
beyond  control.  His  indifference  was  an  outrage  on 
her  femininity.  She  knew  him  to  be  utterly  beyond 
her  influence :  taciturn  when  he  chose,  ill-tempered 
when  he  chose,  exuberant  when  he  chose,  rampageous, 
wild;  insulting  to  her  at  moments;  domineering 
whatever  his  mood,  and  regardless  of  her  wishes;  yet 
at  the  same  time  unconscious  of  all  these  things.    Alone 

i6o 


EVE  i6i 

with  her  now,  he  had  completely  forgotten  her  presence 
by  his  side. 

Her  voice  broke  upon  his  reflections, — 

'  Thinking  of  the  Islands,  Julian  ? '  and  her  words 
joining  like  a  cogwheel  smoothly  on  to  the  current  of 
his  mind,  he  answered  naturally, — 

'Yes.' 

'I  thought  as  much.  I  have  something  to  tell  you. 
You  may  not  be  interested.  I  am  no  longer  engaged 
to  Miloradovitch.' 

'  Since  when  ? ' 

'Since  yesterday  evening.  Since  you  left  me,  and 
ran  away  into  the  woods.  I  was  angry,  and  vented 
my  anger  on  him.' 

'Was  that  fair?' 

'He  has  you  to  thank.  It  has  happened  before — 
with  others.' 

Roused  for  a  second  from  his  absorption,  he  im- 
patiently shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  turned  his  back, 
and  looked  out  over  the  sea.  Eve  was  again  silent, 
brooding  and  resentful  in  her  comer.  Presently  he 
turned  towards  her,  and  said  angrily,  reverting  to  the 
Islands, — 

'You  are  the  vainest  and  most  exhorbitant  woman 
I  know.  You  resent  one's  interest  in  anything  but 
yourself.' 

As  she  did  not  answer,  he  added, — 

'How  sulky  you  look;   it's  very  unbecoming.' 

Was  no  sense  of  proportion  or  of  responsibility 
ever  to  weigh  upon  her  beautiful  shoulders?  He  was 
irritated,  yet  he  knew  that  his  irritation  was  half- 
assumed,  and  that  in  his  heart  he  was  no  more  annoyed 
by  her  fantasy  than  by  the  fantasy  of  Herakleion 
They  matched  each  other;  their  intangibility,  their 
instability,  were  enough  to  make  a  man  shake  his  fists 
to  Heaven,  yet  he  was  beginning  to  beUeve  that  their 


i62  CHALLENGE 

colour  and  romance — for  he  never  dissociated  Eve 
and  Herakleion  in  his  mind — were  the  dearest  treasures 
of  his  youth.  He  turned  violently  and  amazingly 
upon  her. 

'Eve,  I  sometimes  hate  you,  damn  you;  but  you 
are  the  rainbow  of  my  days.' 

She  smiled,  and,  enlightened,  he  perceived  with 
interest,  curiosity,  and  amused  resignation,  the  clearer 
grouping  of  the  affairs  of  his  youthful  years.  Fantasy 
to  youth  !  Sobriety  to  middle-age !  Carried  away, 
he  said  to  her, — 

'  Eve  !     I  want  adventure.  Eve  ! ' 

Her  eyes  lit  up  in  instant  response,  but  he  could  not 
read  her  inward  thought,  that  the  major  part  of  his 
adventure  should  be,  not  Aphros,  but  herself.  He 
noted,  however,  her  lighted  eyes,  and  leaned  over  to 
her. 

'You  are  a  bom  adventurer,  Eve,  also.' 

She  remained  silent,  but  her  eyes  continued  to  dwell 
on  him,  and  to  herself  she  was  thinking,  always  sardonic 
although  the  matter  was  of  such  perennial,  such  all- 
ecHpsing  importance  to  her, — 

'A  la  bonne  heure,  he  reaUses  my  existence.' 

'What  a  pity  you  are  not  a  boy;  we  could  have 
seen  the  adventure  of  the  Islands  through  together.' 

('  The   Islands   always  ! '   she   thought   ruefuUy.) 

*I  should  like  to  cross  to  Aphros  to-night,'  he  mur- 
mured, with  absent  eyes.  .  .  . 

('Gone  again,'  she  thought.  'I  held  him  for  a 
moment.') 

When  they  reached  the  house  no  servants  were 
visible,  but  in  reply  to  the  bell  a  young  servant  ap- 
peared, scared,  white-faced,  and,  as  rapidly  disappearing, 
was  replaced  by  the  old  major-domo.  He  burst  open 
the  door  into  the  passage,  a  crowd  of  words  pressing 


EVE  163 

on  each  other's  heels  in  his  mouth;  he  had  expected 
Julian  alone;  when  he  saw  Eve,  who  was  idly  turning 
over  the  letters  that  awaited  her,  he  clapped  his  hand 
tightly  over  his  lips,  and  stood,  struggling  with  his 
speech,  balancing  himself  in  his  arrested  impetus  on 
his  toes, 

'Well,  Nicolas?'  said  Julian. 

The  major-domo  exploded,  removing  his  hand  from 
his  mouth, — 

'  Kyrie  !  a  word  alone.  ...  *  and  as  abruptly  re- 
placed the  constraining  fingers. 

JuUan  followed  him  through  the  swing  door  into 
the  servants'  quarters,  where  the  torrent  broke  loose. 

'  Kyrie,  a  disaster  !  I  have  sent  men  with  a  stretcher. 
I  remained  in  the  house  myself  looking  for  your  return. 
Father  Paul — yes,  yes,  it  is  he — drowned — yes, 
drowned — at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  Come,  Kyrie, 
for  the  love  of  God.  Give  directions.  I  am  too  old  a 
man.  God  be  praised,  you  have  come.  Only  hasten. 
The  men  are  there  already  with  lanterns.' 

He  was  cKnging  helplessly  to  Julian's  wrist,  and 
kept  moving  his  fingers  up  and  down  JuHan's  arm, 
twitching  fingers  that  sought  reassurance  from  firmer 
muscles,  in  a  distracted  way,  while  his  eyes  beseechingly 
explored  Julian's  face. 

Julian,  shocked,  jarred,  incredulous,  shook  off  the 
feeble  fingers  in  irritation.  The  thing  was  an  outrage 
on  the  excitement  of  the  day.  The  transition  to  tragedy 
was  so  violent  that  he  wished,  in  revolt,  to  disbelieve 
it. 

'You  must  be  mistaken,  Nicolas!' 

'Kyrie,  I  am  not  mistaken.  The  body  is  l5mig  on 
the  shore.  You  can  see  it  there.  I  have  sent  lanterns 
and  a  stretcher.    I  beg  of  you  to  come.' 

He  spoke,  tugging  at  JuHan's  sleeve,  and  as  Julian 
remained   unaccountably   immovable   he   sank   to   his 


i64  CHALLENGE 

knees,  clasping  his  hands  and  raising  imploring 
eyes.  His  fustanelle  spread  its  pleats  in  a  circle  on  the 
stone  floor.  His  story  had  suddenly  become  vivid  to 
Julian  with  the  words,  'The  body  is  lying  on  the  shore'; 
'  drowned,'  he  had  said  before,  but  that  had  summoned 
no  picture.  The  body  was  lying  on  the  shore.  The 
body  !  Paul,  brisk,  alive,  familiar,  now  a  body,  merely. 
The  body  !  had  a  wave,  washing  forward,  deposited 
it  gently,  and  retreated  without  its  burden?  or  had 
it  floated,  pale-faced  under  the  stars,  till  some  man, 
looking  by  chance  down  at  the  sea  from  the  terrace  at 
the  foot  of  the  garden,  caught  that  pale,  almost  phos- 
phorescent gleam  rocking  on  the  swell  of  the  water? 

The  old  major-domo  followed  Julian's  stride  between 
the  lemon-trees,  obsequious  and  conciliatory.  The 
windows  of  the  house  shone  behind  them,  the  house 
of  tragedy,  where  Eve  remained  as  yet  uninformed, 
uninvaded  by  the  solemnity,  the  reality,  of  the  present. 
Later,  she  would  have  to  be  told  that  a  man's  figure 
had  been  wrenched  from  their  intimate  and  daily 
circle.  The  situation  appeared  grotesquely  out  of 
keeping  with  the  foregoing  day,  and  with  the  wide 
and  gentle  night. 

From  the  paved  walk  under  the  pergola  of  gourds 
rough  steps  led  down  to  the  sea.  Julian,  pausing, 
perceived  around  the  yellow  squares  of  the  lanterns 
the  indistinct  figures  of  men,  and  heard  their  low, 
disconnected  talk  breaking  intermittently  on  the 
continuous  wash  of  the  waves.  The  sea  that  he  loved 
filled  him  with  a  sudden  revulsion  for  the  indifference 
of  its  unceasing  movement  after  its  murder  of  a  man. 
It  should,  in  decency,  have  remained  quiet,  silent; 
impenetrable,  unrepentant,  perhaps;  inscrutable,  but 
at  least  silent;  its  murmur  echoed  almost  as  the  murmur 
of  a  triumph.  .  .  . 

He  descended  the  steps.    As  he  came  into  view,  the 


EVE  165 

men's  fragmentary  talk  died  away;  their  dim  group 
fell  apart;  he  passed  between  them,  and  stood  beside 
the  body  of  Paul. 

Death.  He  had  never  seen  it.  As  he  saw  it  now, 
he  thought  that  he  had  never  beheld  anything  so 
incontestably  real  as  its  irrevocable  stillness.  Here 
was  finality;  here  was  defeat  beyond  repair.  In  the 
face  of  this  judgment  no  revolt  was  possible.  Only 
acceptance  was  possible.  The  last  word  in  life's  argu- 
ment had  been  spoken  by  an  adversary  for  long  remote, 
forgotten;  an  adversary  who  had  remained  ironically 
dumb  before  the  babble,  knowing  that  in  his  own 
time,  with  one  word,  he  could  produce  the  irrefutable 
answer.  There  was  something  positively  satisf5dng 
in  the  faultlessness  of  the  conclusion.  He  had  not 
thought  that  death  would  be  Uke  this.  Not  cruel, 
not  ugly,  not  beautiful,  not  terrifying — merely  un- 
answerable. He  wondered  now  at  the  multitude  of 
sensations  that  had  chased  successively  across  his 
mind  or  across  his  vision  :  the  elections,  Fni  Thyregod, 
the  jealousy  of  Eve,  his  incredulity  and  resentment 
at  the  news,  his  disinclination  for  action,  his  indig- 
nation against  the  indifference  of  the  sea;  these 
things  were  vain  when  here,  at  his  feet,  lay  the 
ultimate  solution. 

Paul  lay  on  his  back,  his  arms  straight  down  his 
sides,  and  his  long,  wiry  body  closely  sheathed  in  the 
wet  soutane.  The  square  toes  of  his  boots  stuck  up, 
close  together,  Uke  the  feet  of  a  swathed  mummy. 
His  upturned  face  gleamed  white  with  a  tinge  of  green 
in  the  light  of  the  lanterns,  and  appeared  more  luminous 
than  they.  So  neat,  so  orderly  he  lay;  but  his  hair, 
alone  disordered,  fell  in  wet  red  wisps  across  his  neck 
and  along  the  ground  behind  his  head. 

At  that  moment  from  the  direction  of  Herakleion 
there  came  a  long  hiss  and  a  rush  of  bright  gold  up 


i66  CHALLENGE 

into  the  sky;  there  was  a  crackle  of  small  explosions, 
and  fountains  of  gold  showered  against  the  night  as 
the  first  fireworks  went  up  from  the  quays.  Rockets 
soared,  bursting  into  coloured  stars  among  the  real 
stars,  and  plumes  of  golden  hght  spread  themselves 
dazzHngly  above  the  sea.  Faint  sounds  of  cheering 
were  borne  upon  the  breeze. 

The  men  around  the  body  of  the  priest  waited, 
ignorant  and  bewildered,  relieved  that  some  one  had 
come  to  take  command.  Their  eyes  were  bent  upon 
Julian  as  he  stood  looking  down;  they  thought  he  was 
praying  for  the  dead.  Presently  he  became  aware 
of  their  expectation,  and  pronounced  with  a  start, — 

'  Bind  up  his  hair  ! ' 

Fingers  hastened  clumsily  to  deal  with  the  stringy 
red  locks;  the  limp  head  was  supported,  and  the  hair 
knotted  somehow  into  a  semblance  of  its  accustomed 
roll.  The  old  major-domo  quavered  in  a  guilty  voice, 
as^though  taking  the  blame  for  carelessness, — 

'The  hat  is  lost,  Kyrie. 

Julian  let  his  eyes  travel  over  the  little  group  of 
men,  islanders  all,  with  an  expression  of  searching 
inquiry. 

'Which  of  you  made  this  discovery?' 

It  appeared  that  one  of  them,  going  to  the  edge  of 
the  sea  in  expectation  of  the  fireworks,  had  noticed, 
not  the  darkness  of  the  body,  but  the  pallor  of  the  face, 
in  the  water  not  far  out  from  the  rocks.  He  had  waded 
in  and  drawn  the  body  ashore.  Dead  Paul  lay  there 
deaf  and  indifferent  to  this  account  of  his  own  finding. 

'No  one  can  explain.  .  .  .' 

Ah,  no  \  and  he,  who  could  have  explained,  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  their  curiosity.  Julian  looked 
at  the  useless  lips,  unruffled  even  by  a  smUe  of  sarcasm. 
He  had  known  Paul  all  his  life,  had  learnt  from  him, 
travelled  with  him,  eaten  with  him,  chaffed  him  lightly. 


EVE  167 

but  never,  save  in  that  one  moment  when  he  had 
gripped  the  priest  by  the  wrist  and  had  looked  with 
steadying  intention  into  his  eyes,  had  their  intimate 
personahties  brushed  in  passing.  JuHan  had  no  genius 
for  friendship  ...  He  began  to  see  that  this  death 
had  ended  an  existence  which  had  run  parallel  with, 
but  utterly  walled  off  from,  his  own. 

In  shame  the  words  tore  themselves  from  him, — 

'  Had  he  any  trouble  ? ' 

The  men  slowly,  gravely,  mournfully  shook  their 
heads.  They  could  not  tell.  The  priest  had  moved 
amongst  them,  charitable,  even  saintly;  yes,  saintly, 
and  one  did  not  expect  confidences  of  a  priest.  A 
priest  was  a  man  who  received  the  confidences  of  other 
men.  Julian  heard,  and,  possessed  by  a  strong  desire, 
a  necessity,  for  self-accusation,  he  said  to  them  in  a 
tone  of  urgent  and  impersonal  justice,  as  one  who 
makes  a  declaration,  expecting  neither  protest  nor 
acquiescence, — 

'I  should  have  inquired  into  his  loneliness.* 

They  were  slightly  startled,  but,  in  their  ignorance, 
not  over-surprised,  only  wondering  why  he  delayed 
in  giving  the  order  to  move  the  body  on  to  the  stretcher 
and  carry  it  up  to  the  church.  Farther  up  the  coast, 
the  rockets  continued  to  soar,  throwing  out  bubbles 
of  green  and  red  and  orange,  fantastically  tawdry. 
Julian  remained  staring  at  the  unresponsive  corpse, 
repeating  sorrowfully, — 

'  I  should  have  inquired — yes,  I  should  have  inquired 
— into  his  loneliness.' 

He  spoke  with  infinite  regret,  learning  a  lesson, 
shedding  a  particle  of  his  youth.  He  had  taken  for 
granted  that  other  men's  lives  were  as  promising,  as 
full  of  dissimulated  eagerness,  as  his  own.  He  had 
walked  for  many  hours  up  and  down  Paul's  study, 
lost  m  an  audible  monologue,  expounding  his  theories. 


i68  CHALLENGE 

tossing  his  rough  head,  emphasising,  enlarging,  making 
discoveries,  intent  on  his  egotism,  hewing  out  his 
convictions,  while  the  priest  sat  by  the  table,  leaning 
his  head  on  his  hand,  scarcely  contributing  a  word, 
always  listening.  During  those  hours,  surely,  his 
private  troubles  had  been  forgotten?  Or  had  they 
been  present,  gnawing,  beneath  the  mask  of  sympathy? 
A  priest  was  a  man  who  received  the  confidences  of 
other  men  ! 

'Carry  him  up,'  Julian  said,  'carry  him  up  to  the 
church.' 

He  walked  away  alone  as  the  dark  cortege  set  itself 
in  movement,  his  mind  strangely  accustomed  to  the 
fact  that  Paul  would  no  longer  frequent  their  house 
and  that  the  long  black  figure  would  no  longer  stroll, 
tall  and  lean,  between  the  lemon-trees  in  the  garden. 
The  fact  was  more  simple  and  more  easily  acceptable 
than  he  could  have  anticipated.  It  seemed  already 
quite  an  old-established  fact.  He  remembered  with 
a  shock  of  surprise,  and  a  raising  of  his  eyebrows,  that 
he  yet  had  to  communicate  it  to  Eve.  He  knew  it  so 
well  himself  that  he  thought  every  one  else  must  know 
it  too.  He  was  immeasurably  more  distressed  by  the 
tardy  realisation  of  his  own  egotism  in  regard  to  Paul, 
than  by  the  fact  of  Paul's  death. 

He  walked  very  slowly,  delaying  the  moment  when 
he  must  speak  to  Eve.  He  sickened  at  the  prospect  of 
the  numerous  inevitable  inquiries  that  would  be  made 
to  him  by  both  his  father  and  his  uncle.  He  would 
never  hint  to  them  that  the  priest  had  had  a  private 
trouble.  He  rejoiced  to  remember  his  former  loyalty, 
and  to  know  that  Eve  remained  ignorant  of  that  extra- 
ordinary, unexplained  conversation  when  Paul  had 
talked  about  the  mice.  Mice  in  the  church  !  He, 
JuUan,  must  see  to  the  decent  covering  of  the  body. 
And  of  the  face,  especially  of  the  face. 


EVE  i6q 

An  immense  golden  wheel  flared  out  of  the  darkness; 
whirled,  and  died  away  above  the  sea. 

In  the  dim  church  the  men  had  set  down  the  stretcher 
before  the  iconostase.  Julian  felt  his  way  cautiously 
amongst  the  rush-bottomed  chairs.  The  men  were 
standing  about  the  stretcher,  their  fishing  caps  in 
their  hands,  awed  into  a  whispering  mysticism  which 
Julian's  voice  harshly  interrupted, — 

'Go  for  a  cloth,  one  of  you — the  largest  cloth  you 
can  find.' 

He  had  spoken  loudly  in  defiance  of  the  melancholy 
peace  of  the  church,  that  received  so  complacently 
within  its  ready  precincts  the  visible  remains  from 
which  the  spirit,  troubled  and  uncompanioned  in  hfe, 
had  fled.  He  had  always  thought  the  church  com- 
placent, irritatingly  remote  from  pulsating  human 
existence,  but  never  more  so  than  now  when  it  accepted 
the  dead  body  as  by  right,  firstly  within  its  walls,  and 
lastly  within  its  ground,  to  decompose  and  rot,  the 
body  of  its  priest,  among  the  bodies  of  other  once 
vital  and  much-enduring  men. 

'Kyrie,  we  can  find  only  two  large  cloths,  one  a 
dust-sheet,  and  one  a  hnen  cloth  to  spread  over  the 
altar.     Which  are  we  to  use?' 

'Which  is  the  larger?' 

'  Kyrie,  the  dust-sheet,  but  the  altar-cloth  is  of  linen 
edged  with  lace.' 

'Use  the  dust-sheet;  dust  to  dust,'  said  Julian 
bitterly. 

Shocked  and  uncomprehending,  they  obeyed.  The 
black  figure  now  became  a  white  expanse,  under  which 
the  limbs  and  features  defined  themselves  as  the  folds 
sank  into  place. 

'He  is  completely  covered  over?* 

'Completely,  Kyrie.' 

'The  mice  cannot  run  over  his  face?* 

C.  M 


lyo  CHALLENGE 

'  Kyrie,  no  !  * 

'Then  no  more  can  be  done  until  one  of  you  ride 
into  Herakleion  for  the  doctor.' 

He  left  them,  re-entering  the  garden  by  the  side- 
gate  which  Paul  had  himself  constructed  with  hia 
capable,  carpenter's  hands.  There  was  now  no  further 
excuse  for  delay;  he  must  exchange  the  darkness  for 
the  unwelcome  light,  and  must  share  out  his  private 
knowledge  to  Eve.  Those  men,  fisher-folk,  simple 
folk,  had  not  counted  as  human  spectators,  but  rather 
as  part  of  the  brotherhood  of  night,  nature,  and  the 
stars. 

He  waited  for  Eve  in  the  drawing-room,  having 
assured  himself  that  she  had  been  told  nothing,  and 
there,  presently,  he  saw  her  come  in,  her  heavy  hair 
dressed  high,  a  fan  and  a  flower  drooping  from  her  hand, 
and  a  fringed  Spanish  shawl  hanging  its  straight  silk 
folds  from  her  escaping  shoulders.  Before  her  indolence, 
and  her  slumbrous  delicacy,  he  hesitated.  He  wildly 
thought  that  he  would  aUow  the  news  to  wait.  Tragedy, 
reality,  were  at  that  moment  so  far  removed  from  her. 
.  .  .  She  said  in  deUght,  coming  up  to  him,  and 
forgetful  that  they  were  in  the  house  in  obedience  to 
a  mysterious  and  urgent  message, — 

'Julian,  have  you  seen  the  fireworks?  Come  out 
into  the  garden.     We'll  watch.' 

He  put  his  arm  through  her  bare  arm, — 

'Eve,  I  must  teU  you  something.' 

'Fru  Thyregod?'  she  cried,  and  the  difficulty  of 
his  task  became  all  but  insurmountable. 

'Something  serious.     Something  about  Father  Paul.' 

Her  strange  eyes  gave  him  a  glance  of  undefinable 
suspicion. 

'What  about  him?" 

'He  has  been  found,  in  the  water,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  garden.' 


EVE  I72r 

*In  the  water?' 

*Tn  the  sea.     Drowned.' 

tie  told  her  all  the  circumstances,  doggedly,  con- 
scientiously, under  the  mockery  of  the  tinsel  flames 
that  streamed  out  from  the  top  of  the  columns,  and  of 
the  distant  hghts  flashing  through  the  windows,  speaking 
as  a  man  who  proclaims  in  a  foreign  country  a  great 
truth  bought  by  the  harsh  experience  of  his  soul,  to 
an  audience  unconversant  ^vith  his  alien  tongue.  This 
truth  that  he  had  won,  in  the  presence  of  quiet  stars, 
quieter  death,  and  simple  men,  was  desecrated  by  its 
recital  to  a  vain  woman  in  a  room  where  the  very 
architecture  was  based  on  falsity.  Still  he  persevered, 
believing  that  his  own  intensity  of  feeHng  must  end 
in  piercing  its  way  to  the  foundations  of  her  heart. 
He  laid  bare  even  his  harassing  conviction  of  his 
neglected  responsibility, — 

'I  should  have  suspected  ...  I  should  have 
suspected.  .  .  .' 

He  looked  at  Eve;  she  had  broken  down  and  was 
sobbing,  Paul's  name  mingled  incoherently  with  her 
sobs.  He  did  not  doubt  that  she  was  profoundly  shocked, 
but  with  a  new-found  cynicism  he  ascribed  her  tears  to 
shock  rather  than  to  sorrow.  He  himself  would  have 
been  incapable  of  shedding  a  single  tear.  He  waited 
quietly  for  her  to  recover  herself. 

'Oh,  JuHan  !  Poor  Paul !  How  terrible  to  die  like 
that,  alone,  in  the  sea,  at  night.  .  .  .'  For  a  moment 
her  eyes  were  expressive  of  real  horror,  and  she  clasped 
Julian's  hand,  gazing  at  him  while  all  the  visions  of  her 
imagination  were  alive  in  her  eyes.  She  seemed  to  be  on 
the  point  of  adding  something  further,  but  continued 
to  cry  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  greatly 
sobered,  'You  appear  to  take  for  granted  that  he  has 
killed  himself?' 

He  considered  this.     Up  to  the  present  no  doubt 


172  CHALLENGE 

whatever  had  existed  in  his  mind.  The  possibility  of 
an  accident  had  not  occurred  to  him.  The  very  quality 
of  repose  and  peace  that  he  had  witnessed  had  offered 
itself  to  him  as  the  manifest  evidence  that  the  man 
had  sought  the  only  solution  for  a  life  grown  unen- 
durable. He  had  acknowledged  the  man's  wisdom, 
bowing  before  his  recognition  of  the  conclusive 
infallibility  of  death  as  a  means  of  escape.  Cowardly? 
so  men  often  said,  but  circumstances  were  conceivable 
—circumstances  in  the  present  case  unknown,  withheld, 
and  therefore  not  to  be  violated  by  so  much  as  a 
hazarded  guess — circumstances  were  conceivable  in 
which  no  other  course  was  to  be  contemplated.  He 
replied  with  gravity, — 

'I  do  believe  he  put  an  end  to  his  life.' 
The  secret  reason  would  probably  never  be  disclosed; 
even  if  it  came  within  sight,  Julian  must  now  turn  his 
eyes  the  other  way.  The  secret  which  he  might  have, 
nay,  should  have,  wrenched  from  his  friend's  reserve 
while  he  still  lived,  must  remain  sacred  and  unprofaned 
now  that  he  was  dead.  Not  only  must  he  guard  it 
from  his  own  knowledge,  but  from  the  knowledge  of 
others.  With  this  resolution  he  perceived  that  he  had 
already  blundered. 

'Eve,  I  have  been  wrong;  this  thing  must  be  presented 
as  an  accident.  I  have  no  grounds  for  believing  that 
he  took  his  life.  I  must  rely  on  you  to  support  me. 
In  fairness  on  poor  Paul  ,  .  .  He  told  me  nothing. 
A  man  has  a  right  to  his  own  reticence.' 

He  paused,  startled  at  the  truth  of  his  discovery, 
and  cried  out,  taking  his  head  between  his  hands, — 
'  Oh  God  I  the  appalling  loneliness  of  us  all ! ' 
He  shook  his  head  despairingly  for  a  long  moment 
with  his  hands  pressed  over  his  temples.  Dropping  his 
hands  with  a  gesture  of  discouragement  and  lassitude, 
he  regarded  Eve. 


EVE  173 

'I've  found  things  out  to-night,  I  think  I've  aged 
by  five  years.  I  know  that  Paul  suffered  enough  to 
put  an  end  to  himself.  We  can't  tell  what  he  suffered 
from.  I  never  intended  to  let  you  think  he  had  suffered. 
We  must  never  let  any  one  else  suspect  it.  But  imagine 
the  stages  and  degrees  of  suffering  which  led  him  to 
that  state  of  mind;  imagine  his  hours,  his  days,  and 
specially  his  nights.  I  looked  on  him  as  a  village 
priest,  limited  to  his  village;  I  thought  his  long  hair 
funny;  God  forgive  me,  I  shghtly  despised  him.  You, 
Eve,  you  thought  him  ornamental,  a  picturesque 
appendage  to  the  house.  And  all  that  while,  he  was 
moving  slowly  towards  the  determination  that  he 
must  kill  himself  .  .  .  Perhaps,  probably,  he  took 
his  decision  yesterday,  when  you  and  I  were  at  the 
picnic.  When  Fru  Thyregod  .  .  .  For  months, 
perhaps,  or  for  years,  he  had  been  living  with  the 
secret  that  was  to  kill  him.  He  knew,  but  no  one  else 
knew.  He  shared  his  knowledge  with  no  one.  I  think 
I  shall  never  look  at  a  man  again  without  awe,  and 
reverence,  and  terror.' 

He  was  trembling  strongly,  discovering  his  fellows, 
discovering  himself,  his  glowing  eyes  never  left  Eve's 
face.  He  went  on  talking  rapidly,  as  though  eager  to 
translate  all  there  was  to  translate  into  words  before 
the  aroused  energy  deserted  him. 

'You  vain,  you  deHcate,  unreal  thing,  do  you  under- 
stand at  all?  Have  you  ever  seen  a  dead  man?  You 
don't  know  the  meaning  of  pain.  You  inflict  pain 
for  your  amusement.  You  thing  of  leisure,  you  toy  ! 
Your  deepest  emotion  is  your  jealousy.  You  can  be 
jealous  even  where  j'-ou  cannot  love.  You  make  a 
plaything  of  men's  pain — you  woman  !  You  can  change 
your  personality  twenty  times  a  day.  You  can't 
understand  a  man's  slow,  coherent  progression;  he, 
always  the  same  person,  scarred  with  the  wounds  of 


174  CHALLENGE 

the  past.  To  wound  you  would  be  like  wounding  a 
wraith.' 

Under  the  fury  of  his  unexpected  outburst,  she 
protested, — 

'  JuHan,  why  attack  me  ?    I've  done,  I've  said,  nothing.' 

'You  listened  uncomprehendingly  to  me,  thinking  if 
you  thought  at  all,  that  by  to-morrow  I  should  have 
forgotten  my  mood  of  to-night.  You  are  wrong.  I've 
gone  a  step  forward  to-day.  I've  learnt  .  .  .  Learnt, 
I  mean,  to  respect  men  who  suffer.  Learnt  the  con- 
tinuity and  the  coherence  of  life.  Days  linked  to  days. 
For  you,  an  episode  is  an  isolated  episode.' 

He  softened. 

'No  wonder  you  look  bewildered.  If  you  want  the 
truth,  I  am  angry  with  myself  for  my  blindness  towards 
Paul.     Poor  little  Eve  !    I  only  meant  half  I  said.' 

'You  meant  every  word;  one  never  speaks  the  truth 
so  fuUy  as  when  one  speaks  it  unintentionally.' 

He  smiled,  but  tolerantly  and  without  malice. 

'Eve  betrays  herself  by  the  glibness  of  the  axiom. 
You  know  nothing  of  truth.  But  I've  seen  truth 
to-night.  All  Paul's  past  hfe  is  mystery,  shadow, 
enigma  to  me,  but  at  the  same  time  there  is  a  central 
light — blinding,  incandescent  light — which  is  the  fact 
that  he  suffered.  Suffered  so  much  that,  a  priest,  he 
preferred  the  supreme  sin  to  such  suffering.  Suffered 
so  much  that,  a  man,  he  preferred  death  to  such  suffer- 
ing !  All  his  natural  desire  for  life  was  conquered. 
That  irresistible  instinct,  that  primal  law,  that  persists 
even  to  the  moment  when  darkness  and  unconsciousness 
overwhelm  us — the  fight  for  life,  the  battle  to  retain  our 
birthright — all  this  was  conquered.  The  instinct  to 
escape  from  Ufe  became  stronger  than  the  instinct  to 
preserve  it !    Isn't  that  profoundly  illuminating?' 

He  paused. 

'That  fact  sweeps,  for  me,  like  a  great  searchlight 


EVE  175 

over  an  abyss  of  pain.  The  pain  the  man  must  have 
endured  before  he  arrived  at  such  a  reversal  of  his 
religion  and  of  his  most  primitive  instinct  !  His  world 
was,  at  the  end,  turned  upside  down.  A  terrifying 
nightmare.  He  took  the  only  course.  You  cannot 
think  how  final  death  is — so  final,  so  simple.  So  simple. 
There  is  no  more  to  be  said.    I  had  no  idea  .  .  .' 

He  spoke  himself  with  the  simpHcity  he  was  trying 
to  express.  He  said  again,  candidly,  evenly,  in  a  voice 
from  which  all  the  emotion  had  passed, — 

'So  simple.' 

They  were  silent  for  a  long  time.  He  had  forgotten 
her,  and  she  was  wondering  whether  she  dared  now 
recall  him  to  the  personal.  She  had  Ustened,  gratified 
when  he  attacked  her,  resentful  when  he  forgot  her, 
bored  with  his  detachment,  but  wise  enough  to  conceal 
both  her  resentment  and  her  boredom.  She  had 
worshipped  him  in  his  anger,  and  had  admired  his 
good  looks  in  the  midst  of  his  fire.  She  had  been 
infinitely  more  interested  in  him  than  in  Paul.  Shocked 
for  a  moment  by  Paul's  death,  aware  of  the  stirrings 
of  pity,  she  had  quickly  neglected  both  for  the  sake 
of  the  living  JuUan. 

She  reviewed  a  procession  of  phrases  with  which 
she  might  recall  his  attention. 

'You  despise  me,  JuHan.' 

'No,  I  only  dissociate  you.  You  represent  a  different 
sphere.  You  belong  to  Herakleion.  I  love  you — in 
your  place.' 

'You  are  hurting  me.' 

He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  turned  her 
towards  the  fight.  She  let  him  have  his  way,  with 
the  disconcerting  humifity  he  had  sometimes  found 
in  her.  She  bore  his  inspection  mutely,  her  hands 
dropping  loosely  by  her  sides,  fragile  before  his  strength. 
He  found  that   his  thoughts  had  swept  back,   away 


176  CHALLENGE 

from  death,  away  from  Paul,  to  her  sweetness  and  her 
worthlessness. 

'Many  people  care  for  you — more  fools  they,'  he 
said.  'You  and  I,  Eve,  must  be  allies  now.  You  say 
I  despise  you.  I  shall  do  so  less  if  I  can  enlist  your 
loyalty  in  Paul's  cause.  He  has  died  as  the  result  of 
an  accident.     Are  you  to  be  trusted?' 

He  felt  her  soft  shoulders  move  in  the  sUghtest  shrug 
under  the  pressure  of  his  hands. 

'Do  you  think,'  she  asked,  'that  you  will  be  believed? ' 

'I  shall  insist  upon  being  believed.  There  is  no 
evidence — is  there? — to  prove  me  wrong.' 

As  she  did  not  answer,  he  repeated  his  question, 
then  released  her  in  suspicion. 

'  What  do  you  know  ?   tell  me  !  * 

After  a  very  long  pause,  he  said  quietly, — 

'I  understand.  There  are  many  ways  of  conve3dng 
information.  I  am  very  blind  about  some  things. 
Heavens  !  if  I  had  suspected  that  truth,  either  you 
would  not  have  remained  here,  or  Paul  would  not  have 
remained  here.  A  priest  !  Unheard  of  .  .  .  A  priest 
to  add  to  your  collection.  First  Miloradovitch,  now 
Paul.  Moths  pinned  upon  a  board.  He  loved  you? 
Oh,'  he  cried  in  a  passion,  '  I  see  it  all :  he  struggled, 
you  persisted — till  you  secured  him.  A  joke  to  you. 
Not  a  joke  now — surely  not  a  joke,  even  to  you — but 
a  triumph.  Am  I  right?  A  triumph  !  A  man,  dead 
for  you.  A  priest.  You  allowed  me  to  talk,  knowing 
aU  the  while.' 

'I  am  very  sorry  for  Paul,'  she  said  absently. 

He  laughed  at  the  pitiably  inadequate  word. 

'Have  the  courage  to  admit  that  you  are  flattered. 
More  flattered  than  grieved.  Sorry  for  Paul — yes, 
toss  him  that  conventional  tribute  before  turning  to 
the  luxury  of  your  gratified  vanity.  That  such  things  can 
be  !    Surely  men  and  women  live  in  different  worlds  ? ' 


EVE  177 

'But,  Julian,  what  could  I  do?' 

'He  told  you  he  loved  you?' 

She  acquiesced,  and  he  stood  frowning  at  her,  his 
hands  buried  in  his  pockets  and  his  head  thrust  forward, 
picturing  the  scenes,  which  had  probably  been  numerous, 
between  her  and  the  priest,  letting  his  imagination 
play  over  the  anguish  of  his  friend  and  Eve's  indiffer- 
ence. That  she  had  not  wholly  discouraged  him,  he 
was  sure.  She  would  not  so  easily  have  let  him  go. 
Julian  was  certain,  as  though  he  had  observed  their 
interviews  from  a  hidden  comer,  that  she  had  amusedly 
provoked  him,  watched  him  with  half-closed,  ironical 
eyes,  dropped  him  a  judicious  word  in  her  honeyed 
voice,  driven  him  to  despair  by  her  disregard,  raised 
him  to  joy  by  her  capricious  friendliness.  They  had 
had  every  opportunity  for  meeting.  Eve  was  strangely 
secretive.  All  had  been  carried  on  unsuspected.  At 
this  point  he  spoke  aloud,  almost  with  admiration, — 

'That  you,  who  are  so  shallow,  should  be  so  deep  !' 

A  glimpse  of  her  life  had  been  revealed  to  him,  but 
what  secrets  remained  yet  hidden?  The  veils  were 
lifting  from  his  simplicity;  he  contemplated,  as  it 
were,  a  new  world — Eve's  world,  ephemerally  and 
clandestinely  populated.  He  contemplated  it  in 
fascination,  acknowledging  that  here  was  an  additional, 
a  separate  art,  insistent  for  recognition,  dominating, 
imperative,  forcing  itself  impudently  upon  mankind, 
exasperating  to  the  straight-minded  because  it  im- 
posed itself,  would  not  be  denied,  was  subtle,  pretended 
so  unswervingly  to  dignity  that  dignity  was  accorded 
it  by  a  credulous  humanity — the  art  which  Eve 
practised,  so  vain,  so  cruel,  so  unproductive,  the 
most  fantastically  prosperous  of  impostors  ! 

She  saw  the  marvel  in  his  eyes,  and  smiled  slightly. 

'WeU,  JuUan?' 

*I  am  wondering,'  he  cried,  'wondering!    trying  to 


178  CHALLENGE 

pierce  to  your  mind,  your  peopled  memory,  your 
present  occupation,  your  science.  What  do  you  know? 
what  have  you  heard?  What  have  you  seen?  Yoi., 
so  young  .  .  .  Who  are  not  young.  How  many 
secrets  hke  the  secret  of  Paul  are  buried  away  in  your 
heart?  That  you  will  never  betray?  Do  you  ever 
look  forward  to  the  procession  of  your  life?  You,  so 
young.  I  think  you  have  some  extraordinary,  instinc- 
tive, inherited  wisdom,  some  ready-made  heritage, 
bequeathed  to  you  by  generations,  that  compensates 
for  the  deficiencies  of  your  own  experience.  Because 
you  are  so  young.    And  so  old,  that  I  am  afraid.' 

'Poor  Julian,'  she  murmured.  A  gulf  of  years  lay 
between  them,  and  she  spoke  to  him  as  a  woman  to  a 
boy.  He  was  profoundly  shaken,  while  she  remained 
quiet,  gently  sarcastic,  pitying  towards  him,  who,  so 
vastly  stronger  than  she,  became  a  bewildered  child 
upon  her  own  ground.  He  had  seen  death,  but  she 
had  seen,  toyed  with,  dissected  the  living  heart.  She 
added,  'Don't  try  to  understand.  Forget  me  and  be 
yourself.     You  are  annoying  me.' 

She  had  spoken  the  last  words  with  such  impatience, 
that,  torn  from  his  speculations,  he  asked, — 

'Annoying  you?     \\Tiy?' 

After  a  short  hesitation  she  gave  him  the  truth, — 

'I  dislike  seeing  you  at  fault.' 

He  passed  to  a  further  bewilderment. 

'I  want  you  infaUible.' 

Rousing  herself  from  the  chair  where  she  had  been 
indolently  lying,  she  said  in  the  deepest  tones  of  her 
contralto  voice, — 

'Julian,  you  think  me  worthless  and  vain;  you 
condemn  me  as  that  without  the  charity  of  any  further 
thought.  You  are  right  to  think  me  heartless  towards 
those  I  don't  love.  You  believe  that  I  spend  my  life 
in  vanity.     Julian,  I  only  ask  to  be  taken  away  from 


EVE  179 

my  life;  I  have  beliefs,  and  I  have  creeds,  both  of  my 
own  making,  but  I'm  Hke  a  ship  without  a  rudder. 
I'm  wasting  my  hfe  in  vanity.  I'm  capable  of  other 
things.  I'm  capable  of  the  deepest  good,  I  know,  as 
well  as  of  the  most  shallow  evil.  Nobody  knows, 
except  perhaps  Kato  a  little,  how  my  real  life  is  made 
up  of  dreams  and  illusions  that  I  cherish.  People  are 
far  more  unreal  to  me  than  my  own  imaginings.  One 
of  my  beliefs  is  about  you.  You  mustn't  ever  destroy 
it.     I  believe  you  could  do  anything.' 

'No,  no,'  he  said,  astonished. 

But  she  insisted,  lit  by  the  flame  of  her  conviction. 

'Yes,  anything.  I  have  the  profoundest  contempt 
for  the  herd — to  which  you  don't  belong.  I  have 
beHeved  in  you  since  I  was  a  child;  beheved  in  you, 
I  mean,  as  something  Oljmipian  of  which  I  was 
frightened.  I  have  always  known  that  you  would 
justify  my  faith.' 

'  But  I  am  ordinary,  normal ! '  he  said,  defending 
himself.  He  mistrusted  her  profoundly;  wondered 
what  attack  she  was  engineering.  Experience  of  her 
had  taught  him  to  be  sceptical. 

'Ah,  don't  you  see,  JuUan,  when  I  am  sincere?' 
she  said,  her  voice  breaking.  'I  am  telling  you  now 
one  of  the  secrets  of  my  heart,  if  you  only  knew  it. 
The  gentle,  the  amiable,  the  pleasant — yes,  they're  my 
toys.  I'm  cruel,  I  suppose.  I'm  always  told  so.  I 
don't  care;  they're  worth  nothing.  It  does  their  little 
souls  good  to  pass  through  the  mill.  But  you,  my 
intractable  JuHan.  .  .  .' 

'Kyrie,'  said  Nicolas,  appearing,  'Tsantilas  Tsigaridis, 
from  Aphros,  asks  urgently  whether  you  will  receive  him  ? ' 

'Bring  him  in,'  said  Juhan,  conscious  of  relief,  for 
Eve's  words  had  begun  to  trouble  him. 

Outside,  the  fireworks  continued  to  flash  like  summer 
lightning. 


VI 

TsiGARiDis  came  forward  into  the  room,  his  fishing 
cap  between  his  fingers,  and  his  white  hair  standing 
out  in  bunches  of  wiry  curls  round  his  face.  Deter- 
mination was  written  in  the  set  gravity  of  his  features, 
even  in  the  respectful  bow  with  which  he  came  to  a 
halt  before  Julian,  Interrupted  in  their  conversation. 
Eve  iiaa  laiicii  back,  half  lying,  in  her  arm-chair,  and 
JuUan,  who  had  been  pacing  up  and  down,  stood  still 
with  folded  arms,  a  frown  cleaving  a  deep  valley  between 
his  brows.     He  spoke  to  Tsigaridis, — 

'  You  asked  for  me,  Tsantilas  ? ' 

'I  am  a  messenger,  K5nie.' 

He  looked  from  the  young  man  to  the  girl,  his  age 
haughty  towards  their  youth,  his  devotion  submissive 
towards  the  advantage  of  their  birth.  He  said  to 
JuUan,  using  almost  the  same  words  as  he  had  used 
once  before, — 

'  The  people  of  Aphros  are  the  people  of  your  people,' 
and  he  bowed  again. 

Julian  had  recovered  his  self-possession;  he  no 
longer  felt  dazed  and  bewildered  as  he  had  felt  before 
Eve.  In  speaking  to  Tsigaridis  he  was  speaking  of 
things  he  understood.  He  knew  very  well  the  summons 
Tsigaridis  was  bringing  him,  the  rude  and  fine  old 
man,  single-sighted  as  a  prophet,  direct  and  unswerving 
in  the  cause  he  had  at  heart.  He  imagined,  with 
almost  physical  vividness,  the  hand  of  the  fisherman 
on  his  shoulder,  impeUing  him  forward. 

'Kyrie,'  Tsigaridis  continued,  'to-day  the  flag  ol 
Herakleion  flew  from  the  house  of  your  honoured 
father  until  you  with  your  own  hand  threw  it  down. 

1 80 


EVE  i8i 

I  was  in  Herakleion,  where  the  news  was  brought  to 
me,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  by  now  it  is  known 
also  on  Aphros.  Your  action  can  be  interpreted  only 
in  one  way.  I  know  that  to-day' — he  crossed  himself 
devoutly — 'Father  Paul,  who  was  our  friend  and 
yours,  has  met  his  death;  I  break  in  upon  your  sorrow; 
I  dared  not  wait;  even  death  must  not  delay  me. 
Kyrie,  I  come  to  bring  you  back  to  Aphros.' 

'I  will  go  to-night,'  said  Julian  without  hesitation. 
'My  father  and  my  uncle  are  in  Herakleion,  and  I  will 
start  from  here  before  they  can  stop  me.  Have  you 
a  boat?' 

'I  can  procure  one,'  said  Tsigaridis,  very  erect,  and 
looking  at  Julian  with  shining  eyes. 

'Then  I  will  meet  you  at  the  private  jetty  in  two 
hours'  time.  We  shall  be  unnoted  in  the  darkness, 
and  the  illuminations  will  be  over  by  then.' 

'Assuredly,'  said  the  fisherman. 

'We  go  in  all  secrecy,'  Julian  added.  'Tsantilas, 
listen  :  can  you  distribute  two  orders  for  me  by  night- 
fall? I  understand  that  you  have  organised  a  system 
of  communications  ? ' 

The  old  man's  face  relaxed  slowly  from  its  stern 
dignity;  it  softened  into  a  mixture  of  slyness  and 
pride  and  tenderness — the  tenderness  of  a  father  for 
his  favourite  child.  Almost  a  smile  struggled  with 
his  lips.  A  strange  contortion  troubled  his  browSc 
Slowly  and  portentously,  he  winked. 

'Then  send  word  to  Aphros,'  said  Julian,  'that  no 
boat  be  allowed  to  leave  the  Islands,  and  send  word 
round  the  mainland  recalling  every  available  islander. 
Is  it  possible  ?  I  know  that  every  islander  in  Herakleion 
to-night  is  sitting  with  boon  companions  in  buried 
haunts,  talking,  talking,  talking.  Call  them  together^ 
Tsantilas.' 

'It  will  be  done,  Kyrie.' 


i82  CHALLENGE 

'And  Madame  Kato — she  must  be  informed.' 

'Kyrie,  she  sends  you  a  message  that  she  leaves 
Ferakleion  by  to-night's  train  for  Athens.  When  her 
work  is  done  in  Athens,  she  also  will  return  to  Aphros.' 

Tsigaridis  took  a  step  forward  and  lifted  Julian's 
hands  to  his  lips  as  was  his  wont.  He  bowed,  and  with 
his  patriarchal  gravity  left  the  room. 

Julian  in  a  storm  of  excitement  flung  himself  upon 
his  knees  beside  Eve's  chair. 

'  Eve  ! '  he  cried.  '  Oh,  the  wild  adventure  !  Do 
you  understand?  It  has  come  at  last.  Paul — I  had 
almost  forgotten  the  Islands  for  him,  and  now  I  must 
forget  him  for  the  Islands.  Too  much  has  happened 
to-day.  To-morrow  all  Herakleion  will  know  that  the 
Islands  have  broken  away,  and  that  I  and  every  islander 
are  upon  Aphros.  They  will  come  at  first  with  threats; 
they  will  send  representatives.  I  shall  refuse  to  retract 
our  declaration.  Then  they  will  begin  to  carry  out 
their  threats.  Panaioannou — think  of  it ! — will  organise 
an  attack  with  boats.'  He  became  sunk  in  practical 
thought,  from  which  emerging  he  said  more  slowly 
and  carefully,  'They  wiU  not  dare  to  bombard  the 
island  because  they  know  that  Italy  and  Greece  are 
watching  every  move,  and  with  a  single  man-of-war 
could  blow  the  whole  town  of  Herakleion  higher  than 
Mount  Mylassa.  Kato  will  watch  over  us  from  Athens 
,  .  .  They  will  dare  to  use  no  more  than  reasonable 
violence.    And  they  will  never  gain  a  footing,' 

Eve  was  leaning  forward;  she  put  both  hands  on 
his  shoulders  as  he  knelt. 

'Go  on  talking  to  me,'  she  said,  'my  darling.' 

In  a  low,  intense  voice,  with  unseeing  eyes,  he 
released  all  the  flood  of  secret  thought  that  he  had, 
in  his  hfe,  expressed  only  to  Paul  and  to  Kato. 

'I  went  once  to  Aphros,  more  than  a  year  ago;  you 
remember.     They  asked  me  then,  through  Tsigaridis, 


EVE  183 

whether  I  would  champion  them  if  they  needed  cham- 
pionship. I  said  I  would.  Father  was  very  angry. 
He  is  incomprehensibly  cynical  about  the  Islands,  so 
cynical  that  I  have  been  tempted  to  think  him  merely 
mercenary,  anxious  to  live  at  peace  with  Herakleion 
for  the  sake  of  his  profits.  He  is  as  cynical  as  Malteios, 
or  any  stay-in-power  politician  here.  He  read  me  a 
lecture  and  called  the  people  a  lot  of  rebeUious  good- 
for-nothings.  Eve,  what  do  I  care?  One  thing  is 
true,  one  thing  is  real :  those  people  suffer.  Everything 
on  earth  is  empty,  except  pain.  Paul  suffered,  so  much 
that  he  preferred  to  die.  But  a  whole  people 
doesn't  die.  I  went  away  to  England,  and  I  put 
Herakleion  aside,  but  at  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  I  never  thought  of  anything  else;  I  knew  I  was 
bound  to  those  people,  and  I  Hved,  I  swear  to  you, 
with  the  sole  idea  that  I  should  come  back,  and  that 
this  adventure  of  rescue  would  happen  some  day 
exactly  as  it  is  happening  now.  I  thought  of  Kato 
and  of  Tsigaridis  as  s3anbolical,  almost  mythological 
beings;  my  tutelary  deities;  Kato  vigorous,  and 
Tsigaridis  stern.  Eve,  I  would  rather  die  than  read 
disappointment  in  that  man's  eyes.  I  never  made 
him  many  promises,  but  he  must  find  me  better  than 
my  word.' 

He  got  up  and  walked  once  or  twice  up  and  down 
the  room,  beating  his  fist  against  his  palm  and  saying, — 

'Whatever  good  I  do  in  my  Hfe,  will  be  done  in  the 
Islands.' 

He  came  back  and  stood  by  Eve. 

'Eve,  yesterday  morning  when  I  rode  over  the  hills 
I  saw  the  Islands  lying  out  in  the  sea  ...  I  thought 
of  father,  cynical  and  indifferent,  and  of  Stavridis, 
a  self-seeker.  I  wondered  whether  I  should  grow  into 
that.  I  thought  that  in  illusion  lay  the  only  loveli- 
ness.' 


i84  CHALLENGE 

'  Ah,  how  I  agree  ! '  she  said  fervently. 

He  dropped  on  his  knees  again  beside  her,  and  she 
put  her  fingers  Hghtly  on  his  hair. 

'When  Tsigaridis  came,  yoa  were  telhng  me  that 
you  beheved  in  me — Heaven  knows  why.  For  my 
part,  I  only  believe  that  one  can  accomplish  when  one 
has  faith  in  a  cause,  and  is  bhnd  to  one's  own  fate. 
And  I  believe  that  the  only  cause  worthy  of  such  faith, 
is  the  redemption  of  souls  from  pain.  I  set  aside  all 
doubt.  I  will  listen  to  no  argument,  and  I  will  walk 
straight  towards  the  object  I  have  chosen.  If  my 
faith  is  an  illusion,  I  will  make  that  illusion  into  a 
reality  by  the  sheer  force  of  my  faith.' 

He  looked  up  at  Eve,  whose  eyes  were  strangely 
intent  on  him. 

'You  see,'  he  said,  fingering  the  fringe  of  her  Spanish 
shawl,  'Herakleion  is  my  battleground,  and  if  I  am 
to  tilt  against  windmills  it  must  be  in  Herakleion.  I 
have  staked  out  Herakleion  for  my  own,  as  one  stakes 
out  a  claim  in  a  gold-mining  country.  The  Islands  are 
the  whole  adventure  of  youth  for  me.' 

'  And  what  am  I  ? '  she  murmured  to  him. 

He  looked  at  her  wthout  appearing  to  see  her;  he 
propped  his  elbow  on  her  knee,  leant  his  chin  in  his 
palm,  and  went  on  talking  about  the  Islands. 

'I  know  that  I  am  making  the  thing  into  a  religion, 
but  then  I  could  never  five,  simply  drifting  along. 
Aimless  ...  I  don't  understand  existence  on  those 
terms.  I  am  quite  prepared  to  give  everything  for  my 
idea;  father  can  disinherit  me,  and  I  know  I  am  very 
likely  to  be  killed.  I  don't  care.  I  may  be  mistaken; 
I  may  be  making  a  blunder,  an  error  of  judgment. 
I  don't  care.  Those  people  are  mine.  Those  Islands 
are  my  faith.     I  am  blind.' 

'And  you  enjoy  the  adventure,'  she  said. 

'Of   course,   I   enjoy  the   adventure.    But   there  is 


EVE  185 

more  in  it  than  that/  he  said,  shaking  his  head;  'there 
is  conviction,  burnt  into  me.  Fanatical.  Whoever  is 
ready  to  pay  the  ultimate  price  for  his  beUef,  has  a 
right  to  that  belief.  Heaven  preserve  me,'  he  cried, 
showing  his  fist,  'from  growing  like  father,  or  Malteios, 
or  Stavridis.     Eve,  you  understand.' 

She  murmured  again, — 

'  And  what  am  I  ?  What  part  have  I  got  in  this  world 
of  yours  ? ' 

Again  he  did  not  appear  to  hear  her,  but  making  an 
effort  to  get  up,  he  said, — 

'I  promised  to  meet  TsantUas,  and  I  must  go,'  but 
she  pressed  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  held  him 
down. 

'Stay  a  little  longer.     I  want  to  talk  to  you.' 

Kneehng  there,  he  saw  at  last  that  her  mouth  was 
very  resolute  and  her  eyes  full  of  a  desperate  decision. 
She  sat  forward  in  her  chair,  so  close  to  him  that  he 
felt  the  warmth  of  her  body,  and  saw  that  at  the  base 
of  her  throat  a  little  pulse  was  beating  quickly. 

'What  is  it,  Eve?' 

'This,'  she  said,  'that  if  I  let  you  go  I  may  never 
see  you  again.    How  much  time  have  you  ? ' 

He  glanced  at  the  heavy  clock  between  the  lapis 
columns. 

'An  hour  and  a  half.' 

'Give  me  half  an  hour.* 

'Do  you  want  to  stop  me  from  going?' 

'Could  I  stop  you  if  I  tried?' 

*I  should  never  listen  to  you.' 

'Julian,'  she  said,  'I  rarely  boast,  as  you  know,  but 
I  am  wondering  now  how  many  people  in  Herakleion 
would  abandon  their  dearest  ideals  for  me?  If  you 
think  my  boast  is  empty — remember  Paul.' 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  genuinely  surprised  by 
the  point  of  view  she  presented  to  him. 

C  N 


i86  CHALLENGE 

'But  I  am  different,'  he  said  then,  quite  simply  and 
with  an  air  of  finality. 

She  laughed  a  low,  delighted  laugh. 

'You  have  said  it :  you  are  different.  Of  course 
you  are  different.  So  different,  that  you  never  notice 
me.  People  cringe  to  me — oh,  I  may  say  this  to  you 
— ^but  you,  Julian,  either  you  are  angry  with  me  or 
else  you  forget  me.' 

She  looked  at  the  clock,  and  for  the  first  time  a  slight 
loss  of  self-assurance  came  over  her,  surprising  and 
attractive  in  her,  who  seemed  always  to  hold  every 
situation  in  such  contemptuous  control. 

'Only  half  an  hour,'  she  said,  'and  I  have  to  say 
to  you  aU  that  which  I  have  been  at  such  pains  to 
conceal — hoping  all  the  while  that  you  would  force 
the  gates  of  my  concealment,  trample  on  my 
hypocrisy  ! ' 

Her  eyes  lost  their  irony  and  became  troubled; 
she  gazed  at  him  with  the  distress  of  a  child.  He  was 
uneasily  conscious  of  his  own  embarrassment;  he  felt 
the  shame  of  taking  unawares  the  self-reliant  in  a 
moment  of  weakness,  the  mingled  dehght  and  perplexity 
of  the  hunter  who  comes  suddenly  upon  the  nymph, 
bare  and  gleaming,  at  the  edge  of  a  pool.  All  instinct 
of  chivalry  urged  him  to  retreat  untU  she  should  have 
recovered  her  self-possession.  He  desired  to  help  her, 
tender  and  protective;  and  again,  relentlessly,  he 
would  have  outraged  her  reticence,  forced  her  to  the 
uttermost  lengths  of  self-revelation,  spared  her  no 
abasement,  enjoyed  her  humiliation.  Simultaneously, 
he  wanted  the  triumph  over  her  pride,  the  battle  joined 
with  a  worthy  foe;  and  the  luxury  of  comforting  her 
new  and  sudden  pathos,  as  he  alone,  he  knew,  could 
comfort  it.  She  summoned  in  him,  uncivilised  and 
wholly  primitive,  a  passion  of  tyranny  and  a  passion 
of  possessive  protection. 


EVE  187 

He  yielded  to  the  former,  and  continued  to  look  at 
her  in  expectation,  without  speaking. 

'Help  me  a  Uttle,  Julian,'  she  murmured  piteously, 
keeping  her  eyes  bent  on  her  hands,  which  were  Ijnng 
in  her  lap.  'Look  back  a  little,  and  remember  me. 
I  can  remember  you  so  well :  coming  and  going  and 
disregarding  me,  or  furiously  angry  with  me;  very 
often  unkind  to  me;  tolerant  of  me  sometimes;  negli- 
gently, insultingly,  certain  of  me  always  ! ' 

'We  used  to  say  that  although  we  parted  for  months, 
we  always  came  together  again.' 

She  raised  her  eyes,  grateful  to  him,  as  he  still  knelt 
on  the  floor  in  front  of  her,  but  he  was  not  looking  at 
her;  he  was  staring  at  nothing,  straight  in  front  of 
him. 

'Julian,'  she  said,  and  spoke  of  their  childhood, 
knowing  that  her  best  hope  lay  in  keeping  his  thoughts 
distant  from  the  present  evening. 

Her  distress,  which  had  been  genuine,  had  passed. 
She  had  a  vital  game  to  play,  and  was  playing  it  with 
the  full  resources  of  her  abihty.  She  swept  the  chords 
lightly,  swift  to  strike  again  that  chord  which  had 
whispered  in  response.  She  bent  a  little  closer  to  him. 

'I  have  always  had  this  belief  in  you,  of  which  I 
told  you.  You  and  I  both  have  in  us  the  making  of 
fanatics.  We  never  have  led,  and  never  should  lead, 
the  tame  hfe  of  the  herd.' 

She  touched  him  with  that,  and  regained  command 
over  his  eyes,  which  this  time  she  held  unswervingly. 
But,  having  forced  him  to  look  at  her,  she  saw  a  frown 
gathering  on  his  brows;  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
made  a  gesture  as  if  to  push  her  from  him. 

'You  are  playing  with  me;  if  you  saw  me  lying 
dead  on  that  rug  you  would  turn  from  me  as  indifferently 
as  from  Paul.' 

At  this  moment  of  her  greatest  danger,  as  he  stood 


i88  CHALLENGE 

towering  over  her,  she  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands, 
and  he  looked  down  only  upon  the  nape  of  her  neck 
and  her  waving  hair.  Before  he  could  speak  she  looked 
up  again,  her  eyes  very  sorrowful  under  plaintive 
brows. 

'Do  I  deserve  that  you  should  say  that  to  me? 
I  never  pretended  to  be  anything  but  indifferent  to 
those  I  didn't  love.  I  should  have  been  more  hypo- 
critical. You  despise  me  now,  so  I  pay  the  penalty 
of  my  own  candour.  I  have  not  the  pleasant  graces 
of  a  Fru  Thyregod,  Julian;  not  towards  you,  that  is. 
I  wouldn't  offer  you  the  insult  of  an  easy  philandering. 
I  might  make  your  hfe  a  burden;  I  might  even  kill 
you.  I  know  I  have  often  been  impossible  towards 
you  in  the  past.  I  should  probably  be  still  more  im- 
possible in  the  future.  If  I  loved  you  less,  I  should, 
no  doubt,  love  you  better.    You  see  that  I  am  candid.' 

He  was  struck,  and  reflected :  she  spoke  truly, 
there  was  indeed  a  vein  of  candour  which  contradicted 
and  redeemed  the  petty  deceits  and  untruthfulnesses 
which  so  exasperated  and  offended  him.  But  he  would 
not  admit  his  hesitation. 

'I  have  told  you  a  hundred  times  that  you  are  cruel 
and  vain  and  irredeemably  worthless.' 

She  answered  after  a  pause,  in  the  deep  and  wonderful 
voice  which  she  knew  so  well  how  to  use, — 

'You  are  more  cruel  than  I;  you  hurt  me  more  than 
I  can  say.* 

He  resisted  his  impulse  to  renoimce  his  words,  to 
pretend  that  he  had  chosen  them  in  deliberate  malice. 
As  he  said  nothing,  she  added, — 

'Besides,  have  I  ever  shown  myself  any  of  those 
things  to  you?  I  haven't  been  cruel  to  you;  I  haven't 
even  been  selfish;  you  have  no  right  to  find  fault  with 
me.' 

She  had  blundered;  he  flew  into  a  rage. 


EVE  189 

'  Your  damned  feminine  reasoning !  Your  damned 
personal  point  of  view  !  I  can  see  well  enough  the 
fashion  in  which  you  treat  other  men.  I  don't  judge 
you  only  by  your  attitude  towards  myself.' 

Off  her  guard,  she  was  really  incapable  of  grasping 
his  argument;  she  tried  to  insist,  to  justify  herself, 
but  before  his  storm  of  anger  she  cowered  away. 

'Juhan,  how  you  frighten  me.' 

'You  only  pretend  to  be  frightened.' 

'You  are  brutal;  you  mangle  every  word  I  say,' 
she  said  hopelessly. 

He  had  reduced  her  to  silence;  he  stood  over  her 
threateningly,  much  as  a  tamer  of  wild  beasts  who 
waits  for  the  next  spring  of  the  panther.  Desperate, 
her  spirit  flamed  up  again,  and  she  cried, — 

'You  treat  me  monstrously;  I  am  a  fool  to  waste 
my  time  over  you;  I  am  accustomed  to  quite  different 
treatment.' 

'You  are  spoilt;  you  are  accustomed  to  flattery — 
flattery  which  means  less  than  nothing,'  he  sneered, 
stamping  upon  her  attempt  at  arrogance. 

'  Ah,  Julian  ! '  she  said,  suddenly  and  marvellously 
melting,  and  leaning  forward  she  stretched  out  both 
hands  towards  him,  so  that  he  was  obUged  to  take 
them,  and  she  drew  him  down  to  his  knees  once  more 
beside  her,  and  smiled  into  his  eyes,  having  taken 
command  and  being  resolved  that  no  crisis  of  anger 
should  again  arise  to  estrange  them,  '  I  shall  never  have 
flattery  from  you,  shaU  I?  my  turbulent,  impossible 
Julian,  whose  most  meagre  compliment  I  have  treasured 
ever  since  I  can  remember  !  but  it  is  over  now,  my 
time  of  waiting  for  you' — she  still  held  his  hands,  and 
the  smile  with  which  she  looked  at  him  transfigured  all 
her  face. 

He  was  convinced;  he  trembled.  He  strove  against 
her  faintly, — 


190  CHALLENGE 

'You  choose  your  moment  badly;  you  know  that 
I  must  leave  for  Aphros.' 

'  You  cannot  ! '  she  cried  in  indignation. 

As  his  eyes  hardened,  she  checked  herself;  she 
knew  that  for  her  own  safety  she  must  submit  to  his 
will  without  a  struggle.  Spoilt,  irrational  as  she  was, 
she  had  never  before  so  dominated  her  caprice.  Her 
wits  were  all  at  work,  quick  slaves  to  her  passion. 

'Of  course  you  must  go,'  she  said. 

She  played  with  his  fingers,  her  head  bent  low,  and 
he  was  startled  by  the  softness  of  her  touch. 

'What  idle  hands,'  he  said,  looking  at  them;  'you 
were  vain  of  them,  as  a  child.' 

But  she  did  not  wish  him  to  dwell  upon  her  vanity. 

'Julian,  have  I  not  been  consistent,  all  my  life? 
Are  you  taking  me  seriously?  Do  you  know  that  I 
am  betraying  all  the  truth  ?  One  hasn't  often  the  luxury 
of  betraying  all  the  truth.  I  could  betray  even  greater 
depths  of  truth,  for  your  sake.  Are  you  treating  what 
I  tell  you  with  the  gravity  it  deserves?  You  must 
not  make  a  toy  of  my  secret.  I  have  no  strength  of 
character,  Julian.  I  suppose,  in  its  stead,  I  have  been 
given  strength  of  love.  Do  you  want  what  I  offer 
you?     Will  you  take  the  responsibility  of  refusing  it?' 

'  Is  that  a  threat  ? '  he  asked,  impressed  and  moved. 

She  shrugged  slightly  and  raised  her  eyebrows;  he 
thought  he  had  never  so  appreciated  the  wonderful 
mobility  of  her  face. 

'I  am  nothing  without  the  person  I  love.  You  have 
judged  me  yourself :  worthless — what  else  ? — cruel, 
vain.  All  that  is  true.  Hitherto  I  have  tried  only 
to  make  the  years  pass  by.  Do  you  want  me  to  return 
to  such  an  existence?' 

His  natural  vigour  rebelled  against  her  frailty. 

'You  are  too  richly  gifted.  Eve,  to  abandon  yourself 
to  such  slackness  of  life.' 


EVE  191 

*I  told  you  I  had  no  strength  of  character,'  she 
6aid  with  bitterness,  'what  are  my  gifts,  such  as  they 
are,  to  me?     You  are  the  thing  I  want.' 

'You  could  turn  your  gifts  to  any  account.' 

'With  you,  yes.' 

'No,  independently  of  me  or  any  other  human  being. 
One  stands  alone  in  work.     Work  is  impersonal.' 

'Nothing  is  impersonal  to  me,'  she  replied  morosely, 
'that's  my  tragedy.' 

She  flung  out  her  hands. 

'  Julian,  I  cherish  such  endless  dreams  !  I  loathe 
my  life  of  petty  adventures;  I  undertake  them  only 
in  order  to  forget  the  ideal  which  until  now  has  been 
denied  me.  I  have  crushed  down  the  vision  of  hfe 
with  you,  but  always  it  has  remained  at  the  back  of 
my  mind,  so  wide,  so  open,  a  life  so  free  and  so  full  of 
music  and  beauty,  Julian  !  I  would  work — for  you. 
I  would  create — for  you.  I  don't  want  to  marry  you, 
JuUan.  I  value  my  freedom  above  all  things.  Bondage 
is  not  for  you  or  me.  But  I'll  come  with  you  anywhere 
— to  Aphros  if  you  like.' 

'  To  Aphros  ? '  he  repeated. 

'Why  not?' 

She  put  in,  with  extraordinary  skill, — 

'I  belong  to  the  Islands  no  less  than  you/ 

Privately  she  thought, — 

'  If  you  knew  how  little  I  cared  about  the  Islands ! ' 

He  stared  at  her,  turning  her  words  over  in  his  mind. 
He  was  as  reckless  as  she,  but  conscientiously  he 
suggested, — 

'There  may  be  danger.' 

'I  am  not  really  a  coward,  only  in  the  unimportant 
things.  And  you  said  yourself  that  they  could  never 
invade  the  island,'  she  added  with  complete  confidence 
in  his  statement. 

He  dreamt  aloud, — 


192  CHALLENGE 

'  I  have  only  just  found  her.  This  is  Herakleion  I 
She  might,  who  knows?   be  of  use  to  Aphros.' 

She  wondered  which  consideration  weighed  most 
heavily  with  him. 

'You  were  like  my  sister,'  he  said  suddenly. 

She  gave  a  rueful  smile,  but  said  nothing. 

'  No,  no  ! '  he  cried,  springing  up.  '  This  can  never 
be;  have  you  bewitched  me?  Let  me  go,  Eve;  you 
have  been  playing  a  game  with  me.' 

She  shook  her  head  very  slowly  and  tears  gathered 
in  her  eyes. 

'Then  the  game  is  my  whole  life,  Julian;  put  me  to 
any  test  you  choose  to  prove  my  sincerity.' 

She  convinced  him  against  his  will,  and  he  resented 
it. 

'You  have  deceived  me  too  often.' 

'I  have  been  obliged  to  deceive  you,  because  I  could 
not  tell  you  the  truth.' 

'Very  plausible,'  he  muttered. 

She  waited,  very  well  acquainted  with  the  vehemence 
of  his  moods  and  reactions.  She  was  rewarded;  he 
said  next,  with  laughter  lurking  in  his  eyes, — 

'Ever  since  I  can  remember,  I  have  quarrelled  with 
you  several  times  a  day.' 

'But  this  evening  we  have  no  time  to  waste  in 
quarrelling,'  she  replied,  reheved,  and  stretching  out 
her  hands  to  him  again.  As  he  took  them,  she  added  in 
a  low  voice,  'You  attract  me  fatally,  my  refractory 
Julian.' 

'We  will  go  to  Aphros/  he  said,  'as  friends  and 
colleagues.' 

'On  any  terms  you  choose  to  dictate,'  she  replied 
with  ironical  gravity. 

A  flash  of  clear-sightedness  pierced  his  attempt 
at  self-deception;  he  saw  the  danger  into  which  they 
were  deliberately  running,  he  and  she,  alone  amidst 


EVE  193 

fantastic  happenings,  living  in  fairyland,  both  head- 
strong and  impatient  creatures,  unaccustomed  to 
forgo  their  whims,  much  less  their  passions.  .  .  . 
He  was  obliged  to  recognise  the  character  of  the  temple 
which  stood  at  the  end  of  the  path  they  were  treading, 
and  of  the  deity  to  whom  it  was  dedicated;  he  saw  the 
temple  with  the  eyes  of  his  imagination  as  vividly  as 
his  mortal  eyes  would  have  seen  it  :  white  and  lovely 
amongst  cypresses,  shadowy  within;  they  would 
surely  enter.  Eve  he  certainly  could  not  trust;  could 
he  trust  himself?  His  honesty  answered  no.  She 
observed  the  outward  signs  of  what  was  passing  in 
his  mind,  he  started,  he  glanced  at  her,  a  look  of  horror 
and  vigorous  repudiation  crossed  his  face,  his  eyes 
dwelt  on  her,  then  she  saw — for  she  was  quick  to  read 
him — by  the  shght  toss  of  his  head  that  he  had  banished 
sagacity. 

'Come  on  to  the  veranda,'  she  said,  tugging  at 
his  hand. 

They  stood  on  the  veranda,  watching  the  lights 
in  the  distance;  the  sky  dripped  with  gold;  balls  of 
fire  exploded  into  sheaves  of  golden  feathers,  into 
golden  fountains  and  golden  rain;  golden  slashes  like 
the  blades  of  scimitars  cut  across  the  curtain  of  night. 
Eve  cried  out  with  deUght.  Fiery  snakes  rushed  across 
the  sky,  dying  in  a  shower  of  sparks.  At  one  moment 
the  whole  of  the  coast-Une  was  ht  up  by  a  violet  light, 
which  most  marvellously  gleamed  upon  the  sea. 

'  Fairyland  ! '  cried  Eve,  clapping  her  hands. 

She  had  forgotten  Aphros.    She  had  forgotten  Paul. 

The  fireworks  were  over.  Tsigaridis  pulled  strongly 
and  without  haste  at  his  oars  across  a  wide  sea  that 
glittered  now  like  black  diamonds  under  the  risen 
moon.  The  water  rose  and  fell  beneath  the  little  boat 
as  gently  and  as  regularly  as  the  breathing  of  a  sleeper. 


194  CHALLENGE 

In  a  milky  sky,  spangled  with  stars,  the  immense 
moon  hung  flat  and  motionless,  casting  a  broad  path 
of  rough  silver  up  the  blackness  of  the  waters,  and 
illuminating  a  long  stretch  of  little  broken  clouds  that  lay 
above  the  horizon  hke  the  vertebrae  of  some  gigantic 
<n:ccodile.  The  light  at  the  tip  of  the  pier  showed  green, 
for  they  saw  it  still  from  the  side  of  the  land,  but  as  they 
drew  farther  out  to  sea  and  came  on  a  parallel  line  with 
the  light,  they  saw  it  briefly  half  green,  half  ruby;  then, 
as  they  passed  it,  looking  back  they  saw  only  the  ruby 
glow.  Tsigaridis  rowed  steadily,  silently  but  for  the 
occasional  drip  of  the  water  with  the  lifting  of  an  oar, 
driving  his  craft  away  from  the  lights  of  the  mainland 
— the  stretch  of  Herakleion  along  the  coast — towards 
the  beckoning  lights  in  the  heart  of  the  sea. 

For  ahead  of  them  clustered  the  little  yellow  lights 
of  the  sheerly-rising  village  on  Aphros;  isolated  lights, 
three  or  four  only,  low  down  at  the  level  of  the  harbour, 
then,  after  a  dark  gap  representing  the  face  of  the 
cliff,  the  lights  in  the  houses,  irregular,  tier  above  tier. 
But  it  was  not  to  these  yellow  lights  that  the  glance 
was  drawn.  High  above  them  all,  upon  the  highest 
summit  of  the  island,  flared  a  blood-red  beacon,  a 
fierce  and  solitary  stain  of  scarlet,  a  flame  like  a  flag, 
like  an  emblem,  full  of  hope  as  it  leapt  towards  the 
sky,  full  of  rebellion  as  it  tore  its  angry  gash  across 
the  night.  In  the  moonlight  the  tiny  islands  of  the 
group  lay  darkly  outlined  in  the  sea,  but  the  moonhght, 
placid  and  benign,  was  for  them  without  significance : 
only  the  beacon,  insolently  red  beneath  the  pallor  of 
the  moon,  burned  for  them  with  a  message  that  promised 
to  all  men  strife,  to  others  death,  and  to  the  survivors 
liberty. 

The  form  of  Aphros  was  no  more  than  a  silhouette 
under  the  moon,  a  silhouette  that  rose,  humped  and 
shadowy,  bearing  upon  its  crest  that  flower  of  flame; 


EVE  195 

dawn  might  break  upon  an  island  of  the  purest  loveli- 
ness, colour  blown  upon  it  as  upon  the  feathers  of  a 
bird,  fragile  as  porcelain,  flushed  as  an  orchard  in 
blossom;  to-night  it  lay  mysterious,  unrevealed,  with 
that  single  flame  as  a  token  of  the  purpose  that  burned 
within  its  heart.  Tenderness,  lovehness,  were  absent 
from  the  dark  shape  crowned  by  so  living,  so  leaping 
an  expression  of  its  soul.  Here  were  resolution,  anticipa- 
tion, hope,  the  perpetual  hope  of  betterment,  the  un- 
dying chimera,  the  sublime  illusion,  the  lure  of  adventure 
to  the  rebel  and  the  idealist  alike.  The  flame  rang  out 
like  a  bugle  call  in  the  night,  its  glare  in  the  darkness 
becoming  strident  indeed  as  the  note  of  a  bugle  in  the 
midst  of  silence. 

A  light  breeze  brushed  the  Httle  boat  as  it  drew 
away  from  the  coast,  and  Tsigaridis  with  a  word  of 
satisfaction  shipped  his  oars  and  rose,  the  fragile  craft 
rocking  as  he  moved;  Eve  and  Julian,  watching  from 
the  prow,  saw  a  shadow  creep  along  the  mast  and  the 
triangular  shape  of  a  sail  tauten  itself  darkly  against 
the  path  of  the  moon.  Tsigaridis  sank  back  into  an 
indistinguishable  block  of  intenser  darkness  in  the 
darkness  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  A  few  murmured 
words  had  passed, — 

'I  will  take  the  tiller,  Tsigaridis.' 

'MaUsta,  Kyrie,'  and  the  silence  had  fallen  again, 
the  boat  saihng  strongly  before  the  breeze,  the  beacon 
high  ahead,  and  the  moon  brilliant  in  the  sky. 
Eve,  not  daring  to  speak,  glanced  at  Juhan's  profile 
as  she  sat  beside  him.  He  was  scowhng.  Had  she 
but  known,  he  was  intensely  conscious  of  her  nearness, 
assailed  again  with  that  now  famihar  ghost,  the 
ghost  of  her  as  he  had  once  held  her  angrily  in  his 
arms,  soft,  heavy,  defenceless;  and  his  fingers  as  they 
closed  over  the  tiller  closed  as  delicately  as  upon  the 
remembered  curves  of  her  body;  she  had  taken  off  her 


196  CHALLENGE 

hat,  and  the  scent  of  her  hair  reached  him,  warm,  personal 
she  was  close  to  him,  soft,  fragrant,  silent  indeed, 
but  mysteriously  alive;  the  desire  to  touch  her  grew, 
hke  the  desire  of  thirst;  Ufe  seemed  to  envelop  him 
with  a  strange  completeness.  Still  a  horror  held  him 
back  :  was  it  Eve,  the  child  to  whom  he  had  been 
brotherly?  or  Eve,  the  woman?  but  in  spite  of  his 
revulsion — for  it  was  not  his  habit  to  control  his  desires 
— he  changed  the  tiller  to  the  other  hand,  and  his  free 
arm  fell  round  her  shoulders;  he  felt  her  instant  yielding, 
her  movement  nearer  towards  him,  her  shortened 
breath,  the  falling  back  of  her  head;  he  knew  that 
her  eyes  were  shut;  his  fingers  moulded  themselves 
lingeringly  round  her  throat;  she  sHpped  still  lower 
within  the  circle  of  his  arm,  and  his  hand,  almost 
involuntarily,  trembled  over  the  softness  of  her  breast. 


PART  HI— APHR03 


In  the  large  class-room  of  the  school-house  the  dejected 
group  of  Greek  officials  sat  among  the  hideous  yellow 
desks  and  benches  of  the  school-children  of  Aphros. 
Passion  and  indignation  had  spent  themselves  fruit- 
lessly during  the  preceding  evening  and  night.  To  do 
the  islanders  justice,  the  Greeks  had  not  been  treated 
with  incivility.  But  aU  demands  for  an  interview 
with  the  highest  authority  were  met  not  only  with  a 
polite  reply  that  the  highest  authority  had  not  yet 
arrived  upon  the  island,  but  also  a  refusal  to  disclose 
his  name.  The  Greek  officials,  having  been  brought 
from  their  respective  lodgings  to  the  central  meeting- 
point  of  the  school,  had  been  given  the  run  of  two 
class-rooms,  one  for  the  men,  of  whom  there  were,  in 
all,  twenty,  and  one  for  the  women,  of  whom  there 
were  only  six.  They  were  told  that  they  might  com- 
municate, but  that  armed  guards  would  be  placed  in 
both  rooms.  They  found  most  comfort  in  gathering, 
the  six-and-twenty  of  them,  in  the  larger  class-room, 
while  the  guards,  in  their  kilted  dresses,  sat  on  chairs, 
two  at  each  entrance,  with  suspiciously  modem  and 
efficient-looking  rifles  laid  across  their  knees. 

A  large  proportion  of  the  officials  were,  naturally, 
those  connected  with  the  school.  They  observed 
morosely  that  all  notices  in  the  pure  Greek  of  Herak- 
leion  had  already  been  removed,  also  the  large  htho- 
graphs  of  Malteios  and  other  former  Presidents,  so 
that  the  walls  of  pitch  pine — the  school  buildings 
were  modem,  and  of  wood — were  now  ornamented 
only  with  maps,  anatomical  diagrams,  and  some  large 
coloured  plates  published  by  some  EngHsh  manufacturing 

199 


200  CHALLENGE 

firm  for  advertisement;  there  were  three  children  riding 
a  gray  donkey,  and  another  child  trying  on  a  smi- 
bonnet  before  a  mirror;  but  any  indication  of  the 
relationship  of  Aphros  to  Herakleion  there  was  none. 

'It  is  revolution,'  the  postmaster  said  gloomily. 

The  guards  would  not  speak.  Their  natural  loquacity 
was  in  abeyance  before  the  first  fire  of  their  revolutionary 
ardour.  From  vine-cultivators  they  had  become 
soldiers,  and  the  unfamiliarity  of  the  trade  filled  them 
with  self-awe  and  importance.  Outside,  the  village 
was  surprisingly  quiet;  there  was  no  shouting,  no 
excitement;  footsteps  passed  rapidly  to  and  fro,  but 
they  seemed  to  be  the  footsteps  of  men  bent  on  ordered 
business;  the  Greeks  could  not  but  be  impressed  and 
disquieted  by  the  sense  of  organisation. 

'Shall  we  be  allowed  to  go  free?'  they  asked  the 
guards. 

'You  will  know  when  he  comes,'  was  all  the  guards 
would  reply. 

'Who  is  he?' 

'You  will  know  presently.' 

'Has  he  still  not  arrived?' 

*He  has  arrived.' 

'We  heard  nothing;  he  must  have  arrived  during 
the  night.' 

To  this  they  received  no  answer,  nor  any  to  their 
next  remark, — 

'Why  so  much  mystery?  It  is,  of  course,  the  scatter- 
brained young  Englishman.' 

The  guards  silently  shrugged  their  shoulders,  as 
much  as  to  say,  that  any  one,  even  a  prisoner,  had  a 
right  to  his  own  opinion. 

The  school  clock  pointed  to  nine  when  the  first 
noise  of  agitation  began  in  the  street.  It  soon  became 
clear  that  a  large  concourse  of  people  was  assembling 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  school;  a  slight  excitement 


APHROS  201 

betrayed  itself  by  some  shouting  and  laughter,  but  a 
voice  cried  '  Silence ! '  and  silence  was  immediately 
produced.  Those  within  the  school  heard  only  the 
whisperings  and  rustlings  of  a  crowd.  They  were  not 
extravagantly  surprised,  knowing  the  islanders  to  be 
an  orderly,  restrained,  and  frugal  race,  their  emotions 
trained  into  the  sole  channel  of  patriotism,  which  here 
was  making  its  supreme  demand  upon  their  self- 
devotion.  The  Greeks  threw  wondering  glances  at 
the  rifles  of  the  guards.  Ostensibly  school-teachers, 
post  and  telegraph  clerks,  and  custom-house  officers, 
they  were,  of  course,  in  reality  the  spies  of  the  govern- 
ment of  Herakleion,  and  as  such  should  have  had 
knowledge  of  the  presence  of  such  weapons  on  the 
island.  They  reflected  that,  undesirable  as  was  a 
prolonged  imprisonment  in  the  school-house,  at  the 
mercy  of  a  newly-hberated  and  probably  rancorous 
population,  a  return  to  Herakleion  might  prove  a  no 
less  undesirable  fate  at  the  present  juncture. 

Outside,  some  sharp  words  of  command  were  followed 
by  the  chck  of  weapons  on  the  cobblestones;  the  post- 
master looked  at  the  chief  customs-house  clerk,  raised 
his  eyebrows,  jerked  his  head,  and  made  a  Httle  noise: 
'  Tcha ! '  against  his  teeth,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  The 
deceitful  villains  !  under  om:  noses  ! '  but  at  the  back 
of  his  mind  was,  'No  further  employment,  no  pension, 
for  any  of  us.'  A  burst  of  cheering  followed  in  the 
street.  The  voice  cried  'Silence  !'  again,  but  this  time 
was  disregarded.  The  cheering  continued  for  some 
minutes,  the  women's  note  joining  in  with  the  men's 
deep  voices,  and  isolated  words  were  shouted,  all  with 
the  maximum  of  emotion.  The  Greeks  tried  to  look 
out  of  the  windows,  but  were  prevented  by  the  guards. 
Some  one  in  the  street  began  to  speak,  when  the  cheering 
had  died  away,  but  through  the  closed  windows  it  was 
imp<^ble  to  distinguish  the  words.  A  moment's  hush 
c  o 


202  CHALLENGE 

followed  this  speaking,  and  then  another  voice  began, 
reading  impressively — it  was  obvious,  from  the  un- 
hesitating and  measured  scansion,  that  he  was  reading. 
Sections  of  his  address,  or  proclamation,  whichever  it 
was,  were  received  with  deep  growls  of  satisfaction 
from  the  crowd.  At  one  moment  he  was  wholly  inter- 
rupted by  repeated  shouts  of  '  Viva  !  viva  !  viva  ! ' 
and  when  he  had  made  an  end  thunderous  shouts  of 
approval  shook  the  wooden  building.  The  Greeks 
were  by  now  very  pale;  they  could  not  tell  whether 
this  proclamation  did  not  contain  some  reference, 
ome  decision,  concerning  themselves. 

After  the  proclamation,  another  voice  spoke,  inter- 
rupted at  every  moment  by  various  cries  of  joy  and 
delight,  especially  from  the  women;  the  crowd  seemed 
al.ernately  rocked  with  enthusiasm,  confidence,  fire, 
a  id  laughter.  The  laughter  was  not  the  laughter  of 
amusement  so  much  as  the  grim  laughter  of  resolution 
and  fraternity;  an  extraordinarily  fraternal  and 
unanimous  spirit  seemed  to  prevail.  Then  silence 
again,  broken  by  voices  in  brief  confabulation,  and 
then  the  shifting  of  the  crowd  which,  to  judge  from 
the  noise,  was  pressing  back  against  the  school-buildings 
in  order  to  allow  somebody  a  passage  down  the  street. 

The  door  opened,  and  Zapantiotis,  appearing, 
announced, — 

'Prisoners,  the  President.' 

The  word  created  a  sensation  among  the  little  herd 
of  hostages,  who,  for  comfort  and  protection,  had 
instinctively  crowded  together.  They  believed  them- 
selves miraculously  rescued,  at  least  from  the  spite 
and  vengeance  of  the  islanders,  and  expected  to  see 
either  Malteios  or  Stavridis,  frock-coated  and  top- 
hatted,  in  the  doorway.  Instead,  they  saw  Julian 
Davenant,  flushed,  untidy,  bareheaded,  and  accom- 
panied by  two  immense  islanders  carrying  rifles. 


APHROS  203 

He  paused  and  surveyed  the  little  speechless  group, 
and  a  faint  smile  ran  over  his  lips  at  the  sight  of  the 
confused  faces  of  his  prisoners.  They  stared  at  him, 
readjusting  their  ideas :  in  the  first  instance  they 
had  certainly  expected  JuHan,  then  for  one  flashing 
moment  they  had  expected  the  President  of  Herakleion, 
then  they  were  confronted  with  Julian.  A  question 
left  the  hps  of  the  postmaster, — 

'President  of  what?' 

Perhaps  he  was  tempted  madly  to  think  that  neither 
Malteios,  nor  Stavridis,  but  Julian,  had  been  on  the 
foregoing  day  elected  President  of  Herakleion. 

Zapantiotis  answered  gravely, — 

'Of  the  Archipelago  of  San  Zacharie.' 

'Are  we  all  crazy?'  cried  the  postmaster. 

'You  see,  gentlemen,'  said  Julian,  speaking  for  the 
first  time,  'that  the  folly  of  my  grandfather's  day  has 
been  revived.' 

He  came  forward  and  seated  himself  at  the  school- 
master's desk,  his  bodyguard  standing  a  little  behind 
him,  one  to  each  side. 

'I  have  come  here,'  he  said,  'to  choose  amongst  you 
one  representative  who  can  carry  to  Herakleion  the 
terms  of  the  proclamation  which  has  just  been  read 
in  the  market-place  outside.  These  terms  must  be 
communicated  to  the  present  government.  Zapantiotis, 
hand  the  proclamation  to  these  gentlemen.' 

The  outraged  Greeks  came  closer  together  to  read 
the  proclamation  over  each  other's  shoulder;  it  set 
forth  that  the  islands  constituting  the  Archipelago  of 
San  Zacharie,  and  including  the  important  island  of 
Aphros,  by  the  present  proclamation,  and  after  long 
years  of  oppression,  declared  themselves  a  free  and 
independent  repubUc  under  the  presidency  of  Julian 
Henry  Davenant,  pending  the  formation  of  a  pro- 
visional  government;    that   if   unmolested   they  were 


204  CHALLENGE 

prepared  to  live  in  all  peace  and  neighbourly  good- 
fellowship  with  the  republic  of  Herakleion,  but  that 
if  molested  in  any  way  they  were  equally  prepared 
to  defend  their  shores  and  their  liberty  to  the  last  drop 
of  blood  in  the  last  man  upon  the  Islands. 

There  was  a  certain  nobleness  in  the  resolute  gravity 
of  the  wording. 

Julian  wore  a  cryptic  smile  as  he  watched  the  Greeks 
working  their  way  through  this  document,  which  was 
in  the  ItaUanate  Greek  of  the  Islands.  Their  fingers 
pointed  certain  paragraphs  out  to  one  another,  and 
little  repressed  snorts  came  from  them,  snorts  of  scorn 
and  of  indignation,  and  glances  were  flung  at  Julian 
lounging  indifferently  in  the  schoolmaster's  chair. 
The  doors  had  been  closed  to  exclude  the  crowd,  and 
of  the  islanders,  only  Zapantiotis  and  the  guards 
remained  in  the  room.  Although  it  was  early,  the  heat 
was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt,  and  the  flies  were 
buzzing  over  the  window-panes. 

'If  you  have  finished  reading,  gentlemen,'  said 
Juhan  presently,  'I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  decide 
upon  a  representative,  as  I  have  much  to  attend  to; 
a  boat  is  waiting  to  take  him  and  these  ladies  to  the 
shore.' 

Immense  relief  was  manifested  by  the  ladies. 

'This  thing,'  said  the  head  of  the  school,  hitting  the 
proclamation  with  his  closed  fingers,  'is  madness; 
I  beg  you,  young  man — I  know  you  quite  well — to 
withdraw  before  it  is  too  late.' 

'I  can  have  no  argument;  I  give  you  five  minutes 
to  decide,'  Julian  replied,  la5dng  his  watch  on  the 
desk. 

His  followers  had  no  longer  cause  to  fret  against 
his  indecision. 

Seeing  him  determined,  the  Greeks  excitedly  con- 
ferred;   amongst  them  the  idea  of  self-preservation. 


APHROS  205 

rather  than  of  self-immolation,  was  obviously  dominant. 
Herakkion,  for  all  the  displeasure  of  the  authorities, 
was,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  preferable  to  Aphros 
in  the  hands  of  the  islanders  and  their  eccentric,  if 
not  actually  bloodthirsty,  young  leader.  The  post- 
master presented  himself  as  senior  member  of  the 
group;  the  schoolmaster  as  the  most  erudite,  therefore 
the  most  fitted  to  represent  his  colleagues  before  the 
Senate;  the  head  clerk  of  the  customs-house  urged 
his  claim  as  having  the  longest  term  of  official  service. 
The  conference  degenerated  into  a  wrangle. 

'I  see,  gentlemen,  that  I  must  take  the  decision  out 
of  your  hands,'  Juhan  said  at  length,  breaking  in  upon 
them,  and  appointed  the  customs-house  clerk. 

But  in  the  market-place,  whither  the  Greek  represen- 
tative and  the  women  of  the  party  were  instantly 
hurried,  the  silent  throng  of  population  waited  in 
packed  and  coloured  ranks.  The  men  stood  apart, 
arms  folded,  handkerchiefs  bound  about  their  heads 
under  their  wide  straw  hats — they  waited,  patient, 
confident,  unassuming.  None  of  them  was  armed 
with  rifles,  although  many  carried  a  pistol  or  a  long 
knife  slung  at  his  belt;  the  customs-house  clerk, 
through  all  his  confusion  of  mingled  terror  and  rehef, 
noted  the  fact;  if  he  deHvered  it  at  a  propitious  moment, 
it  might  placate  an  irate  Senate.  No  rifles,  or,  at  most, 
eight  in  the  hands  of  the  guards  !  Order  would  very 
shortly  be  restored  in  Aphros. 

Nevertheless,  that  sense  of  organisation,  of  discipline, 
of  which  the  Greeks  had  been  conscious  while  listening 
to  the  assembling  of  the  crowd  through  the  boards  of 
the  school-house,  was  even  more  apparent  here  upon 
the  market-place.  These  islanders  knew  their  business. 
A  small  file  of  men  detached  itself  as  an  escort  for  the 
representative  and  the  women.  Juhan  came  from  the 
school  at  the  same  moment  with  his  two  guards,  grim 


2o6  CHALLENGE 

and  attentive,  behind  him.  A  movement  of  respect 
produced  itself  in  the  crowd.  The  customs-house  clerk 
and  his  companions  were  not  allowed  to  linger,  but 
were  marched  away  to  the  steps  which  led  down  to  the 
jetty.  They  carried  away  with  them  as  their  final 
impression  of  Aphros  the  memory  of  the  coloured 
throng  and  of  Julian,  a  few  paces  in  advance,  watching 
their  departure. 

The  proclamation,  the  scene  in  the  school-house, 
remained  as  the  prelude  to  the  many  pictures  which 
populated  Juhan's  memory,  interchangeably,  of  that 
day.  He  saw  himself,  speaking  rarely,  but,  as  he  knew, 
to  much  purpose,  seated  at  the  head  of  a  table  in  the 
village  assembly-room,  and,  down  each  side  of  the 
table,  the  principal  men  of  the  Islands,  Tsigaridis  and 
Zapantiotis  on  his  either  hand,  grave  counsellors; 
he  heard  their  speech,  unreproducibly  magnificent, 
because  a  bodyguard  of  facts  supported  every  phrase; 
because,  in  the  background,  thronged  the  years  of 
endurance  and  the  patient,  steadfast  hope.  He  heard 
the  terms  of  the  new  constitution,  and  the  oath  of 
resolution  to  which  every  man  subscribed.  With  a 
swimming  brain,  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  hastily- 
restored  portrait  of  his  grandfather,  he  heard  the 
references  to  himself  as  head  of  the  state — a  state  in 
which  the  citizens  numbered  perhaps  five  thousand. 
He  heard  his  own  voice,  issuing  orders  whose  wisdom 
was  never  questioned  :  no  boat  to  leave  the  Islands, 
no  boats  to  be  admitted  to  the  port,  without  his  express 
permission,  a  system  of  sentries  to  be  instantly  insti- 
tuted and  maintained,  day  and  night.  As  he  dehvered 
these  orders,  men  rose  in  their  places,  assuming  the 
responsibility,  and  left  the  room  to  execute  them  with- 
out delay. 

He  saw  himself  later,  stiU  accompanied  by  Tsigaridis 


APHROS  207 

and  Zapantiotis,  but  having  rid  himself  of  his  two 
guards,  in  the  interior  of  the  island,  on  the  slopes  where 
the  little  rough  stone  walls  retained  the  terraces,  and 
where  between  the  trunks  of  the  ohve-trees  the  sea 
moved,  blue  and  gUttering,  below.  Here  the  island 
was  dry  and  stony;  mule-paths,  rising  in  wide,  low 
steps,  wandered  up  the  slopes  and  lost  themselves 
over  the  crest  of  the  hill.  A  few  goats  moved  restlessly 
among  cactus  and  bramble-bushes,  cropping  at  the 
prickly  stuff,  and  now  and  then  raising  their  heads  to 
bleat  for  the  kids  that,  more  light-hearted  because  not 
under  the  obhgation  of  searching  for  food  amongst  the 
vegetation,  leapt  after  one  another,  up  and  down,  in  a 
happy  chain  on  their  Httle  stiff  certain  legs  from  terrace 
to  terrace.  An  occasional  cypress  rose  in  a  dark  spire 
against  the  sky.  Across  the  sea,  the  town  of  Herakleion 
lay,  white,  curved,  and  narrow,  with  its  coloured 
sunbHnds  no  bigger  than  butterflies,  along  the  strip 
of  coast  that  Mount  Mylassa  so  grudgingly  allowed  it. 

The  stepped  paths  being  impassable  for  carts, 
Tsigaridis  had  collected  ten  mules  with  panniers,  that 
followed  in  a  string.  Julian  rode  ahead  upon  another 
mule;  Zapantiotis  walked,  his  tall  staff  in  his  hand, 
and  his  dog  at  his  heels.  JuHan  remembered  idly 
admiring  the  health  which  enabled  this  man  of  sixty- 
five  to  climb  a  constantly-ascending  path  under  a 
burning  sun  without  showing  any  signs  of  exhaustion. 
As  they  went,  the  boy  in  charge  of  the  mules  droned 
out  a  mournful  native  song  which  Julian  recognised  as 
having  heard  upon  the  lips  of  Kato.  The  crickets 
chirped  unceasingly,  and  overhead  the  seagulls  circled 
uttering  their  pecuHar  cry. 

They  had  climbed  higher,  finally  leaving  behind 
them  the  olive-terraces  and  coming  to  a  stretch  of 
vines,  the  autumn  vine-leaves  ranging  through  every 
shade  of  yellow,  red,  and  orange;  here,  away  from  the 


2o8  CHALLENGE 

shade  of  the  oHves,  the  sun  burned  down  ahnost  un- 
bearably, and  the  stones  of  the  rough  walls  were  too 
hot  for  the  naked  hand  to  touch.  Here  it  was  that 
the  grapes  were  spread  out,  drying  into  currants — a 
whole  terrace  heaped  with  grapes,  over  which  a  party 
of  young  men,  who  sat  playing  at  dice  beneath  a  rough 
shelter  made  out  of  reeds  and  matting,  were  mounting 
guard. 

Julian,  knowing  nothing  of  this  business,  and  present 
only  out  of  interested  curiosity,  left  the  command  to 
Zapantiotis.  A  few  stone-pines  grew  at  the  edge  of 
the  terrace;  he  moved  his  mule  into  their  shade  while 
he  watched.  They  had  reached  the  summit  of  the 
island — no  doubt,  if  he  searched  far  enough,  he  would 
come  across  the  ruins  of  last  night's  beacon,  but  he 
preferred  to  remember  it  as  a  living  thing  rather  than 
to  stumble  with  his  foot  against  ashes,  gray  and  dead; 
he  shivered  a  little,  in  spite  of  the  heat,  at  the  thought 
of  that  flame  already  extinguished — and  from  the 
summit  he  could  look  down  upon  both  slopes,  seeing 
the  island  actually  as  an  island,  with  the  sea  below  upon 
every  side,  and  he  could  see  the  other  islands  of  the 
group,  speckled  around,  some  of  them  too  tiny  to  be 
inhabited,  but  all  deserted  now,  when  in  the  common 
cause  every  soul  had  been  summoned  by  the  beacon, 
the  preconcerted  signal,  to  Aphros.  He  imagined  the 
little  isolated  boats  travelling  across  the  moonlit  waters 
during  the  night,  as  he  himself  had  travelled;  little 
boats,  each  under  its  triangular  sail,  bearing  the  owner, 
his  women,  his  children,  and  such  poor  belongings  as 
he  could  carry,  making  for  the  port  or  the  creeks  of 
Aphros,  relying  for  shelter  upon  the  fraternal  hospi- 
tality of  the  inhabitants.  No  doubt  they,  like  himself, 
had  travelled  with  their  eyes  upon  the  beacon.  .  .  . 

The  young  men,  grinning  broadly  and  displaying 
a  zest  they  would  not  have  contributed  towards  the 


APHROS  209 

mere  routine  of  their  lives,  had  left  their  skeleton 
shelter  and  had  fallen  to  work  upon  the  heaps  of  drying 
grapes  with  their  large,  purple-stained,  wooden  shovels. 
Zapantiotis  leant  upon  his  staff  beside  JuUan's  mule. 

'  See,  Kyrie  ! '  he  had  said.  '  It  was  a  crafty  thought, 
was  it  not  ?  Ah,  women  !  only  a  woman  could  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing.' 

'  A  woman  ? ' 

'Anastasia  Kato,'  the  overseer  had  replied,  reverent 
towards  the  brain  that  had  contrived  thus  craftily 
for  the  cause,  but  famiUar  towards  the  great  singer — 
of  whom  distinguished  European  audiences  spoke 
with  distant  respect — as  towards  a  woman  of  his  own 
people.  He  probably,  Julian  had  reflected,  did  not 
know  of  her  as  a  singer  at  all. 

Beneath  the  grapes  rifles  were  concealed,  preserved 
from  the  fruit  by  careful  sheets  of  coarse  linen;  rifles, 
gleaming,  modem  rifles,  laid  out  in  rows;  a  hundred, 
two  hundred,  three  hundred;  JuHan  had  no  means  of 
estimating. 

He  had  dismounted  and  walked  over  to  them;  the 
young  men  were  still  shovelling  back  the  fruit,  reckless 
of  its  plenty,  bringing  more  weapons  and  stiU  more  to 
light.     He  had  bent  down  to  examine  more  closely. 

'Italian,'  he  had  said  then,  briefly,  and  had  met 
Tsigaridis'  eye,  had  seen  the  slow,  contented  smile 
which  spread  on  the  old  man's  face,  and  which  he  had 
discreetly  turned  aside  to  conceal. 

Then  Julian,  with  a  glimpse  of  all  those  months  of 
preparation,  had  ridden  down  from  the  hills,  the  string 
of  mules  following  his  mule  in  single  file,  the  shining 
barrels  bristling  out  of  the  panniers,  and  in  the  market- 
place he  had  assisted,  from  the  height  of  his  saddle,  at 
the  distribution  of  the  arms.  Two  hundred  and  fifty, 
and  five  hundred  rounds  of  ammunition  to  each.  .  .  . 
He  thought  of   the  nights  of  smuggHng  represented 


210  CHALLENGE 

there,  of  the  catch  of  fish — the  'quick,  shining  harvest 
of  the  sea' — beneath  which  lay  the  deadher  catch 
that  evaded  the  eyes  of  the  customs-house  clerks. 
He  remembered  the  robbery  at  the  casino,  and  was 
illuminated.     Money  had  not  been  lacking. 

These  were  not  the  only  pictures  he  retained  of  that 
day;  the  affairs  to  which  he  was  expected  to  attend 
seemed  to  be  innumerable;  he  had  sat  for  hours  in  the 
village  assembly-room,  while  the  islanders  came  and 
went,  surprisingly  capable,  but  at  the  same  time  utterly 
rehant  upon  him.  Throughout  the  day  no  sign  came 
from  Herakleion.  Julian  grew  weary,  and  could  barely 
restrain  his  thoughts  from  wandering  to  Eve.  He  would 
have  gone  to  her  room  before  leaving  the  house  in  the 
morning,  but  she  had  refused  to  see  him.  Consequently 
the  thought  of  her  had  haunted  him  all  day.  One  of 
the  messages  which  reached  him  as  he  sat  in  the  assembly- 
room  had  been  from  her  :  Would  he  send  a  boat  to 
Herakleion  for  Nana? 

He  had  smiled,  and  had  complied,  very  much  doubting 
whether  the  boat  would  ever  be  allowed  to  return.  The 
message  had  brought  him,  as  it  were,  a  touch  from  her, 
a  breath  of  her  personaUty  which  clung  about  the 
room  long  after.  She  was  near  at  hand,  waiting  for 
him,  so  familiar,  yet  so  unfamiliar,  so  undiscovered. 
He  felt  that  after  a  year  with  her  much  would  still 
remain  to  be  discovered;  that  there  was,  in  fact,  no 
end  to  her  interest  and  her  mystery.  She  was  of  no 
ordinary  calibre,  she  who  could  be,  turn  by  turn,  a 
dehcious  or  plaintive  child,  a  woman  of  ripe  seduction, 
and — in  fits  and  starts — a  poet  in  whose  turbulent  and 
undeveloped  talent  he  divined  startling  possibilities  I 
When  she  wrote  poetry  she  smothered  herself  in  ink, 
as  he  knew;  so  mingled  in  her  were  the  fallible  and  the 
infalUble.  He  refused  to  analyse  his  present  relation 
to  her;   a  sense,  not  of  hypocrisy,  but  of  decency,  held 


APHROS  211 

him  back;  he  remembered  all  too  vividly  the  day  he 
had  carried  her  in  his  arms;  his  brotherliness  had  been 
shocked,  offended,  but  since  then  the  remembrance 
had  persisted  and  had  grown,  and  now  he  found  himself, 
with  all  that  brotherhness  of  years  still  ingrained  in 
him,  fuU  of  thoughts  and  on  the  brink  of  an  adventure 
far  from  brotherly.  He  tried  not  to  think  these  thoughts. 
He  honestly  considered  them  degrading,  incestuous. 
But  his  mood  was  ripe  for  adventure;  the  air  was  full 
of  adventure;  the  circumstances  were  unparalleled; 
his  excitement  glowed — he  left  the  assembly-room, 
walked  rapidly  up  the  street,  and  entered  the  Davenant 
house,  shutting  the  door  behind  him. 

The  sounds  of  the  street  were  shut  out,  and  the 
water  plashed  coolly  in  the  open  courtyard;  two 
pigeons  walked  prinking  round  the  flat  edge  of  the 
marble  basin,  the  male  cooing  and  bowing  absurdly, 
throwing  out  his  white  chest,  rufQing  his  tail,  and 
putting  down  his  spindly  feet  with  fussy  precision. 
When  Julian  appeared,  they  fluttered  away  to  the 
other  side  of  the  court  to  resume  their  convention  of 
love-making.  Evening  was  faUing,  warm  and  suave, 
and  overhead  in  the  stUl  blue  sky  floated  tiny  rosy 
clouds.  In  the  cloisters  round  the  court  the  frescoes 
of  the  life  of  Saint  Benedict  looked  palely  at  Julian, 
they  so  faded,  so  washed-out,  he  so  young  and  so  full 
of  strength.  Their  pallor  taught  him  that  he  had  never 
before  felt  so  young,  so  reckless,  or  so  vigorous. 

He  was  astonished  to  find  Eve  with  the  son  of 
Zapantiotis,  learning  from  him  to  play  the  flute  in 
the  long,  low  room  which  once  had  been  the  refectory 
and  which  ran  the  full  length  of  the  cloisters.  Deeply 
recessed  windows,  with  heavy  iron  gratings,  looked 
down  over  the  roofs  of  the  village  to  the  sea.  In  one 
of  these  windows  Eve  leaned  against  the  wall  holding 
the  flute  to  her  lips,  and  young  Zapantiotis,  eager. 


212  CHALLENGE 

handsome,  showed  her  how  to  place  her  fingers  upon 
the  holes.     She  looked  defiantly  at  Julian. 

'Nico  has  rescued  me,'  she  said;  'but  for  him  I 
should  have  been  alone  all  day.  I  have  taught  him  to 
dance.'     She  pointed  to  a  gramophone  upon  a  table. 

'  Where  did  that  come  from  ? '  Julian  said,  determined 
not  to  show  his  anger  before  the  islander. 

'From  the  cafe,'  she  replied. 

'Then  Nico  had  better  take  it  back;  they  will  need 
it,'  Julian  said,  threats  in  his  voice,  'and  he  had  better 
see  whether  his  father  cannot  find  him  employment; 
we  have  not  too  many  men.' 

'You  left  me  the  whole  day,'  she  said  when  Nico  had 
gone;  'I  am  sorry  I  came  with  you,  JuHan;  I  would 
rather  go  back  to  Herakleion;  even  Nana  has  not 
come.    I  did  not  think  you  would  desert  me.' 

He  looked  at  her,  his  anger  vanished,  and  she  was 
surprised  when  he  answered  her  gently,  even  amusedly, — 

'You  are  always  delightfully  unexpected  and  yet 
characteristic  of  yourself :  I  come  back,  thinking  I 
shall  find  you  alone,  perhaps  glad  to  see  me,  having 
spent  an  unoccupied  day,  but  no,  I  find  you  with  the 
best-looking  scamp  of  the  village,  having  learnt  from 
him  to  play  the  flute,  taught  him  to  dance,  and 
borrowed  a  gramophone  from  the  local  cafe  ! ' 

He  put  his  hands  heavily  upon  her  shoulders  with  a 
gesture  she  knew  of  old. 

'I  suppose  I  love  you,'  he  said  roughly,  and  then 
seemed  indisposed  to  talk  of  her  any  more,  but  told 
her  his  plans  and  arrangements,  to  which  she  did  not 
listen. 

They  remained  standing  in  the  narrow  window- 
recess,  leaning,  opposite  to  one  another,  against  the 
thick  stone  walls  of  the  old  Genoese  building.  Through 
the  grating  they  could  see  the  sea,  and,  in  the  distance, 
Herakleion. 


APHROS  213 

'It  is  sufficiently  extraordinary,'  he  remarked, 
gazing  across  the  bay,  'that  Herakleion  has  made  no 
sign.  I  can  only  suppose  that  they  will  try  force  as 
soon  as  Panaioannou  can  collect  his  army,  which,  as 
it  was  fully  mobilised  no  later  than  yesterday,  ought 
not  to  take  very  long.' 

'Will  there  be  fighting?'  she  asked,  with  a  first  show 
of  interest. 

'I  hope  so,'  he  replied. 

'I  should  hke  you  to  fight,'  she  said. 

Swaying  as  he  invariably  did  between  his  contra- 
dictory opinions  of  her,  he  found  himself  inwardly 
approving  her  standpoint,  that  man,  in  order  to  be 
worthy  of  woman,  must  fight,  or  be  prepared  to  fight, 
and  to  enjoy  the  fighting.  From  one  so  self-indulgent, 
so  pleasure-loving,  so  reluctant  to  face  any  unpleasant- 
ness of  life,  he  might  pardonably  have  expected  the 
less  heroic  attitude.  If  she  resented  his  absence  all 
day  on  the  business  of  preparations  for  strife,  might 
she  not  equally  have  resented  the  strife  that  called 
him  from  her  side?  He  respected  her  appreciation  of 
physical  courage,  and  remodelled  his  estimate  to  her 
advantage. 

To  his  surprise,  the  boat  he  had  sent  for  Nana  returned 
from  Herakleion.  It  came,  indeed,  without  Nana, 
but  bearing  in  her  place  a  letter  from  his  father : — 

'Dear  Julian, — By  the  courtesy  of  M.  Stavridis — by 
whose  orders  this  house  is  closely  guarded,  and  for  which  I 
have  to  thank  your  folly — I  am  enabled  to  send  you  this 
letter,  conditional  on  M.  Stavridis's  personal  censorship. 
Your  messenger  has  come  with  your  astonishing  request 
that  your  cousin's  nurse  may  be  allowed  to  return  with  the 
boat  to  Aphros.  I  should  have  returned  with  it  myself  in 
the  place  of  the  nurse,  but  for  M.  Stavridis's  very  natural 
objection  to  my  rejoining  you  or  leaving  Herakleion. 

'  I  am  at  present  too  outraged  to  make  any  comment  upon 


214  CHALLENGE 

your  behaviour.  I  try  to  convince  myself  that  you  must 
be  completely  insane.  M.  Stavridis,  however,  will  shortly 
take  drastic  steps  to  restore  you  to  sanity.  I  trust  only 
that  no  harm  will  befall  you — for  I  remember  still  that  you 
are  my  son — in  the  process.  In  the  meantime,  I  demand  of 
you  most  urgently,  in  my  own  name  and  that  of  your  uncle 
and  aunt,  that  you  will  send  back  your  cousin  without  delay 
to  Herakleion.  M.  Stavridis  has  had  the  great  kindness  to 
give  his  consent  to  this.  A  little  consideration  will  surely 
prove  to  you  that  in  taking  her  with  you  to  Aphros  you 
have  been  guilty  of  a  crowning  piece  of  folly  from  every 
point  of  view.  I  know  you  to  be  headstrong  and  unreflect- 
ing. Try  to  redeem  yourself  in  this  one  respect  before  it 
is  too  late. 

*I  fear  that  I  should  merely  be  wasting  my  time  by 
attempting  to  dissuade  you  from  the  course  you  have 
chosen  with  regard  to  the  Islands.  My  poor  misguided  boy, 
do  you  not  realise  that  your  effort  is  bound  to  end  in 
disaster,  and  will  serve  but  to  injure  those  you  most  desire 
to  help? 

'  I  warn  you,  too,  most  gravely  and  solemnly,  that  your 
obstinacy  will  entail  very  serious  consequences  for  yourself. 
I  shall  regret  the  steps  I  contemplate  taking,  but  I  have  the 
interest  of  our  family  to  consider,  and  I  have  your  uncle's 
entire  approval. 

'I  am  very  deeply  indebted  to  M.  Stavridis,  who,  while 
unable  to  neglect  his  duty  as  the  first  citizen  of  Herakleion, 
has  given  me  every  proof  of  his  personal  friendship  and 
confidence.  W.  Davenant.' 

Julian  showed  this  letter  to  Eve. 

'What  ansvi^er  shall  you  send?' 

'This,'  he  replied,  tearing  it  into  pieces. 

'You  are  angry.  Oh,  Julian,  I  love  you  for  being 
reckless.' 

'I  see  red.  He  threatens  me  with  disinheriting  me. 
He  takes  good  care  to  remain  in  Stavridis'  good  books 
himself.     Do  you  want  to  go  back?' 


APHROS  2t5 

*No,  Julian.* 

'  Of  course,  father  is  quite  right :  I  am  insane,  and 
so  are  you.  But,  after  ail,  you  wiU  run  no  danger,  and 
as  for  compromising  you,  that  is  absurd  :  we  have 
often  been  alone  together  before  now.  Besides,'  he 
added  brutally,  'you  said  yourself  you  belonged  to  the 
Islands  no  less  than  I;  you  can  suffer  for  them  a  little 
if  necessary.' 

'I  make  no  complaint,'  she  said  with  an  enigmatic 
smile. 

They  dined  together  near  the  fountain  in  the  court- 
yard, and  overhead  the  sky  grew  dark,  and  the  servant 
brought  lighted  candles  for  the  table.  JuHan  spoke 
very  Httle;  he  allowed  himself  the  supreme  luxury 
of  being  spoilt  by  a  woman  who  made  it  her  business 
to  please  him;  observing  her  critically,  appreciatively; 
acknowledging  her  art;  noting  with  admiration  how 
the  instinct  of  the  born  courtesan  filled  in  the  gaps 
in  the  experience  of  the  child.  He  was,  as  yet,  more 
mystified  by  her  than  he  cared  to  admit. 

But  he  yielded  himself  to  her  charm.  The  intimacy 
of  this  meal,  their  first  alone  together,  enveloped  him 
more  and  more  with  the  gradual  sinking  of  night,  and 
his  observant  silence,  which  had  originated  with  the 
dehberate  desire  to  test  her  skill  and  also  to  indulge 
his  own  masculine  enjoyment,  insensibly  altered  into 
a  shield  against  the  emotion  which  was  gaining  him. 
The  servant  had  left  them.  The  water  stiU  plashed 
into  the  marble  basin.  The  candles  on  the  table  burned 
steadily  in  the  unruffled  evening,  and  under  their  light 
gleamed  the  wine — rough,  native  wane,  red  and  golden 
— in  the  long-necked,  transparent  bottles,  and  the 
bowl  of  fruit  :  grapes,  a  cut  melon,  and  bursting  figs, 
heaped  with  the  lavishness  of  plenty.  The  table  was 
a  pool  of  Ught,  but  around  it  the  court  and  cloisters 
were  full  of  dim,  mysterious  shadows. 


2i6  CHALLENGE 

Opposite  Julian,  Eve  leaned  forward,  propping  her 
bare  elbows  on  the  table,  disdainfully  picking  at  the 
fruit,  and  talking.  He  looked  at  her  smooth,  beautiful 
arms,  and  little  white  hands  that  he  had  always  loved. 
He  knew  that  he  preferred  her  company  to  any  in  the 
world.  Her  humour,  her  audacity,  the  wddth  of  her  range, 
the  picturesqueness  of  her  phraseology,  her  endless 
inventiveness,  her  subtle  undercurrent  of  the  personal, 
though  ' you '  or  ' I'  might  be  entirely  absent  from  her  Hps 
all  seemed  to  him  wholly  enchanting.  She  was  a  sybarite 
of  Hfe,  an  artist;  but  the  glow  and  recklessness  of  her 
saved  her  from  all  taint  of  intellectual  sterihty.  He  knew 
that  his  life  had  been  enriched  and  coloured  by  her 
presence  in  it;  that  it  would,  at  any  moment,  have 
become  a  poorer,  a  grayer,  a  less  magical  thing  through 
the  loss  of  her.  He  shut  his  eyes  for  a  second  as  he 
reahsed  that  she  could  be,  if  he  chose,  his  own  possession, 
she  the  elusive  and  unattainable;  he  might  claim  the 
redemption  of  all  her  infinite  promise;  might  discover 
her  in  the  r61e  for  which  she  was  so  obviously  created; 
might  violate  the  sanctuary  and  tear  the  veils  from 
the  wealth  of  treasure  hitherto  denied  to  all;  might 
exact  for  himself  the  first  secrets  of  her  unplundered 
passion.  He  knew  her  already  as  the  perfect  com- 
panion, he  divined  her  as  the  perfect  mistress;  he 
reeled  and  shrank  before  the  unadmitted  thought, 
then  looked  across  at  her  where  she  sat  with  an  open 
fig  half-way  to  her  Hps,  and  knew  fantastically  that 
they  were  alone  upon  an  island  of  which  he  was  all 
but  king. 

'A  deserted  city,'  she  was  saying,  'a  city  of  Portu- 
guese settlers;  pink  marble  palaces  upon  the  edge  of 
the  water;  almost  crowded  into  the  water  by  the 
encroaching  jungle;  monkeys  peering  through  their 
ruined  windows;  on  the  sand,  great  sleepy  tortoises; 
and,  twining  in  and  out  of  the  broken  doorways  of  the 


APHROS  217 

palaces,  orchids  and  hibiscus — that  is  Trincomali ! 
Would  you  like  the  tropics,  I  wonder,  Julian?  their 
exuberance,  their  vulgarity?  .  .  .  One  buys  little 
sacks  fuU  of  precious  stones;  one  puts  in  one's  hand, 
and  lets  the  sapphires  and  the  rubies  and  the  emeralds 
run  through  one's  fingers.' 

Their  eyes  met;  and  her  sUght,  infrequent  confusion 
overcame  her.  .  .  . 

'You  aren't  listening,'  she  murmured. 

'You  were  only  fifteen  when  you  went  to  Ceylon,* 
he  said,  gazing  at  the  blue  smoke  of  his  cigarette. 
'You  used  to  write  to  me  from  there.  You  had  scarlet 
writing-paper.     You  were  a  deplorably  affected  child.' 

'Yes,'  she  said,  'the  only  natural  thing  about  me 
was  my  affectation.' 

They  laughed,  closely,  intimately. 

'It  began  when  you  were  three,'  he  said,  'and 
insisted  upon  always  wearing  brown  kid  gloves;  your 
voice  was  even  deeper  then  than  it  is  now,  and  you 
always  called  your  father  Robert.' 

'You  were  five;  you  used  to  push  me  into  the  prickly 
pear.' 

'And  you  tried  to  kill  me  with  a  dagger;  do  you 
remember  ? ' 

'Oh,  yes,'  she  said  quite  gravely,  'there  was  a  period 
when  I  always  carried  a  dagger.' 

'  When  you  came  back  from  Ceylon  you  had  a  tiger's 
claw.' 

'With  which  I  once  cut  my  initials  on  your  arm.* 

'You  were  very  theatrical.' 

'You  were  very  stoical.' 

Again  they  laughed. 

'When  you  went  to  Ceylon,'  he  said,  'one  of  the 
ship's  officers  fell  in  love  with  you;  you  were  very 
much  amused.' 

'The  only  occasion,  I  think,  Juhan,  when  I  ever 
C.  P 


2i8  CHALLENGE 

boasted  to  you  of  such  a  thing?  You  must  forgive 
me — il  ne  faut  pas  m'en  vouloir — remember  I  was 
only  fifteen.' 

'Such  things  amuse  you  still/  he  said  jealously. 

'C'est  possible,'  she  replied. 

He  insisted, — 

'When  did  you  really  become  aware  of  your  own 
heartlessness  ? ' 

She  sparkled  with  laughter. 

'I  think  it  began  life  as  a  sense  of  humour,'  she 
said,  'and  degenerated  gradually  into  its  present  state 
of  spasmodic  infamy.' 

He  had  smiled,  but  she  saw  his  face  suddenly  darken, 
and  he  got  up  abruptly,  and  stood  by  the  fountain, 
turning  his  back  on  her. 

'My  God,'  she  thought  to  herself  in  terror,  'he  ha? 
remembered  Paul.' 

She  rose  also,  and  went  close  to  him,  sHpping  her 
hand  through  his  arm,  endeavouring  to  use,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  the  powerful  weapon  of  her  physical 
nearness.  He  did  not  shake  away  her  hand,  but  he 
remained  unresponsive,  lost  in  contemplation  of  the 
water.  She  hesitated  as  to  whether  she  should  boldly 
attack  the  subject— she  knew  her  danger;  he  would 
be  difficult  to  acquire,  easy  to  lose,  no  more  tractable 
than  a  young  colt— then  in  the  stillness  of  the  night 
she  faintly  heard  the  music  of  the  grampohone  playing 
in  the  village  cafe. 

'  Come  into  the  drawing-room  and  listen  to  the  music, 
Juhan,'  she  said,  pulling  at  his  arm. 

He  came  morosely;  they  exchanged  the  court  with 
its  pool  of  light  for  the  darkness  of  the  drawing-room; 
she  felt  her  way,  holding  his  hand,  towards  a  window 
seat;  sat  down,  and  pulled  him  down  beside  her; 
through  the  rusty  iron  grating  they  saw  the  sea,  lit  up 
by  the  rising  moon. 


APHROS  219 

'We  can  just  hear  the  music,'  she  whispered. 

Her  heart  was  beating  hard  and  fast  :  they  had 
been  as  under  a  spell,  so  close  were  they  to  one  another, 
but  now  she  was  bitterly  conscious  of  having  lost  him. 
She  knew  that  he  had  shpped  from  the  fairyland  of 
Aphros  back  to  the  world  of  principles,  of  morals  both 
conventional  and  essential.  In  fairyland,  whither  she 
had  enticed  him,  all  things  were  feasible,  permissible, 
even  imperative.  He  had  accompanied  her,  she  thought, 
very  willingly,  and  they  had  strayed  together  down 
enchanted  paths,  abstaining,  it  is  true,  from  adventuring 
into  the  perilous  woods  that  surrounded  them,  but 
hand  in  hand,  nevertheless,  their  departure  from  the 
path  potential  at  any  rate,  if  not  imminent.  They 
had  been  alone;  she  had  been  so  happy,  so  triumphant. 
Now  he  had  fled  her,  back  to  another  world  inhabited 
by  all  the  enemies  she  would  have  had  him  forget : 
her  cruelties,  her  vanities — her  vanities  !  he  could 
never  reconcile  her  vanities  and  her  splendour;  he 
was  incapable  of  seeing  them  both  at  the  same  time; 
the  one  excluded  the  other,  turn  and  turn  about,  in 
his  young  eyes;  her  deceptions,  her  evasions  of  the 
truth,  the  men  she  had  misled,  the  man,  above  all, 
that  she  had  killed  and  whose  death  she  had  accepted 
with  comparative  indifference.  These  things  rose 
in  a  bristling  phalanx  against  her,  and  she  faced  them, 
small,  afraid,  and  at  a  loss.  For  she  was  bound  to 
admit  their  existence,  and  the  very  vivid,  the  very 
crushing,  reahty  of  their  existence,  all-important  to 
her,  in  Julian's  eyes;  although  she  herself  might  be 
too  completely  devoid  of  moral  sense,  in  the  ordinary 
acceptance  of  the  word,  to  admit  any  justification  for 
his  indignation.  She  knew  with  sorrow  that  they  would 
remain  for  ever  as  a  threat  in  the  background,  and  that 
she  would  be  fortunate  indeed  if  in  that  background 
she    could    succeed    in    keeping    them    more    or    less 


220  CHALLENGE 

permanently.  Her  imagination  sighed  for  a  potion  of 
forgetfulness.  Failing  that,  never  for  an  instant  must 
she  neglect  her  r61e  of  Calypso.  She  knew  that  on  the 
slightest  impulse  to  anger  on  Julian's  part — and  his 
impulses  to  anger  were,  alas,  both  violent  and  frequent 
— all  those  enemies  in  their  phalanx  would  instantly 
rise  and  range  themselves  on  his  side  against  her. 
Coaxed  into  abeyance,  they  would  revive  with  fatal 
ease. 

She  knew  him  well  in  his  present  mood  of  gloom. 
She  was  afraid,  and  a  desperate  anxiety  to  regain  him 
possessed  her.  Argument,  she  divined,  would  be  futile. 
She  whispered  his  name. 

He  turned  on  her  a  face  of  granite. 

'Why  have  you  changed?'  she  said  helplessly.  'I 
was  so  happy,  and  you  are  making  me  so  miserable.' 

'  I  have  no  pity  for  you,'  he  said,  '  you  are  too  pitiless 
yourself  to  deserve  any.' 

'You  break  my  heart  when  you  speak  to  me  like 
that.' 

'I  should  Hke  to  break  it,'  he  rephed,  unmoved. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  presently  he  heard  her 
sobbing.  Full  of  suspicion,  he  put  out  his  hand  and 
felt  the  tears  running  between  her  fingers. 

'I  have  made  you  cry,'  he  said. 

'Not  for  the  first  time,'  she  answered. 

She  knew  that  he  was  disconcerted,  shaken  in  his 
harshness,  and  added, — 

'I  know  what  you  think  of  me  sometimes,  Julian. 
I  have  nothing  to  say  in  my  own  defence.  Perhaps 
there  is  only  one  good  thing  in  me,  but  that  you  must 
promise  me  never  to  attack.' 

'What  is  it?' 

'You  sound  very  sceptical/  she  answered  wistfully. 
'My  love  for  you;   let  us  leave  it  at  that.' 

'I  wonder!'  he  said;    and  again,  'I  wonder!  .  .  .' 


APHROS  221 

She  moved  a  little  closer  to  him,  and  leaned  against 
him,  so  that  her  hair  brushed  his  cheek.  Awkwardly 
and  absent-mindedly,  he  put  his  arms  round  her;  he 
could  feel  her  heart  beating  through  her  thin  musUn 
shirt,  and  hfting  her  bare  arm  in  his  hand  he  weighed 
it  pensively;  she  lay  against  him,  allowing  him  to  do 
as  he  pleased;  physically  he  held  her  nearer,  but  morally 
he  was  far  away.  Humiliating  herself,  she  lay  silent, 
willing  to  sacrifice  the  pride  of  her  body  if  therewith 
she  might  purchase  his  return.  But  he,  awaking  with 
a  start  from  his  brooding  grievances,  put  her  away 
from  him.  If  temptation  was  to  overcome  him,  it 
must  rush  him  by  assault;  not  thus,  sordid  and  unlit. 
...     He  rose,  saying, — 

*It  is  very  late;  you  must  go  to  bed;  good-night/ 


n 

Panaioannou  attempted  a  landing  before  sunrise  on 

the  following  day. 

A  few  stars  were  still  visible,  but  the  moon  was 
paling,  low  in  the  heavens,  and  along  the  eastern 
horizon  the  sky  was  turning  rosy  and  yellow  above  the 
sea.  Earth,  air,  and  water  were  ahke  bathed  in  purity 
and  loveliness.  Julian,  hastily  aroused,  remembered 
the  Islands  as  he  had  seen  them  from  the  mainland 
on  the  day  of  Madame  Lafarge's  picnic.  In  such 
beauty  they  were  lying  now,  dependent  on  his  defence. 
.  .  .  Excited  beyond  measure,  he  dressed  rapidly, 
and  as  he  dressed  he  heard  the  loud  clanging  of  the 
school  bell  summoning  the  men  to  arms;  he  heard 
the  village  waking,  the  clatter  of  banging  doors,  of 
wooden  soles  upon  the  cobbles,  and  excited  voices. 
He  rushed  from  his  room  into  the  passage,  where  he 
met  Eve. 

She  was  very  pale,  and  her  hair  was  streaming  round 
her  shoulders.     She  clung  to  him. 

'Oh,  Julian,  what  is  it?  why  are  they  ringing  the 
bells?    why  are  you  dressed?    where  are  you  going?' 

He  explained,  holding  her,  stroking  her  hair. 

'Boats  have  been  sighted,  setting  out  from  Herak- 
leion;  I  suppose  they  think  they  will  take  us  by  surprise. 
You  know,  I  have  told  off  two  men  to  look  after  you; 
you  are  to  go  into  the  little  hut  which  is  prepared  for 
you  in  the  very  centre  of  the  island.  They  will  never 
land,  and  you  will  be  perfectly  safe  there.  I  will  let 
you  know  directly  they  are  driven  off.  You  must  let 
me  go,  darhng.' 

'Oh,  but  you?    but  you?'  she  cried  desperately. 

222 


APHROS  223 

'They  won't  come  near  me,'  he  replied  laughing. 

'JuUan,  Jiilian,'  she  said,  holding  on  to  his  coat  as 
he  tried  to  loosen  her  fingers,  'Juhan,  I  want  you  to 
know :  you're  all  my  Ufe,  I  give  you  myself,  on  what- 
ever terms  you  hke,  for  ever  if  you  like,  for  a  week  if 
you  like;  you  can  do  with  me  whatever  you  choose; 
throw  me  away  when  you've  done  with  me;  you  think 
me  worthless;   I  care  only  for  you  in  the  world.' 

He  was  astonished  at  the  starkness  and  violence  of 
the  passion  in  her  eyes  and  voice. 

'  But  I  am  not  going  into  any  danger,'  he  said,  trying 
to  soothe  her. 

'For  God's  sake,  kiss  me,'  she  said,  distraught,  and 
seeing  that  he  was  impatient  to  go. 

'I'll  kiss  you  to-night,'  he  answered  tempestuously, 
with  a  ring  of  triumph  as  one  who  takes  a  decision. 

'No,  no  :   now.' 

He  kissed  her  hair,  bur5dng  his  face  in  its  thickness. 

'This  attack  is  a  comedy,  not  a  tragedy,'  he  called 
back  to  her  as  he  ran  down  the  stairs. 

The  sentry  who  had  first  sighted  the  fleet  of  boats 
was  still  standing  upon  his  headland,  leaning  on  his 
rifle,  and  straining  his  eyes  over  the  sea.  Julian  saw 
him  thus  silhouetted  against  the  morning  sky.  Day 
was  breaking  as  Julian  came  up  the  mule-path,  a  score 
of  islanders  behind  him,  walking  with  the  soft,  charac- 
teristic swishing  of  their  white  woollen  skirts,  and  the 
slight  rattle  of  slung  rifles.  All  paused  at  the  head- 
land, which  was  above  a  little  rocky  creek;  the  green 
and  white  water  foamed  gently  below.  Out  to  sea 
the  boats  were  distinctly  visible,  dotted  about  the 
sea,  carrying  each  a  load  of  men;  there  might  be  twenty 
or  thirty,  with  ten  or  fifteen  men  in  each. 

'They  must  be  out  of  their  senses,'  Tsigaridis  growled; 
'their  only  hope  would  have  lain  in  a  surprise  attack 


224  CHALLENGE 

at  night — which  by  the  present  moonhght  would 
indeed  have  proved  equally  idle — but  at  present  they 
but  expose  themselves  to  our  butchery.' 

'The  men  are  all  at  their  posts?'  Julian  asked. 

'MaHsta,  Kyrie,  malista.'  They  remained  for  a  little 
watching  the  boats  as  the  dayUght  grew.  The  colours 
of  the  dawn  were  shifting,  stretching,  widening,  and 
the  water,  turning  from  iron-gray  to  violet,  began 
along  the  horizon  to  reflect  the  transparency  of  the 
sky.  The  long,  low,  gray  clouds  caught  upon  their 
edges  an  orange  flush;  a  sudden  bar  of  gold  fell  along 
the  line  where  sky  and  water  met;  a  drift  of  tiny 
clouds  turned  red  hke  a  flight  of  flamingoes;  and  the 
blue  began  insensibly  to  spread,  pale  at  first,  then 
deepening  as  the  sun  rose  out  of  the  melting  clouds 
and  flooded  over  the  full  expanse  of  sea.  To  the  left, 
the  coast  of  the  mainland,  with  Mount  Mylassa  soaring, 
and  Herakleion  at  its  base,  broke  the  curve  until  it 
turned  at  an  angle  to  run  northward.  Smoke  began 
to  rise  in  steady  threads  of  blue  from  the  houses  of 
Herakleion.  The  red  light  died  away  at  the  tip  of  the 
pier.  The  gulls  circled  screaming,  flashes  of  white  and 
gray,  marbled  birds;  and  beyond  the  thin  line  of  foam 
breaking  against  the  island  the  water  was  green  in  the 
shallows. 

All  round  Aphros  the  islanders  were  lying  in  pickets 
behind  defences,  the  naturally  rocky  and  shelving 
coast  affording  them  the  command  of  every  approach. 
The  port,  which  was  the  only  really  suitable  landing- 
place,  was  secure,  dominated  as  it  was  by  the  village; 
no  boat  could  hope  to  live  for  five  minutes  under 
concentrated  rifle  fire  from  the  windows  of  the  houses. 
The  other  possible  landing-places — the  creeks  and 
little  beaches — could  be  held  with  equal  ease  by  half 
a  dozen  men  with  rifles  lying  under  shelter  upon  the 
headlands  or  on  the  ledges  of  the  rocks.     Julian  was 


APHROS  225 

full  of  confidence.  The  danger  of  shelling  he  dis- 
counted, firstly  because  Herakleion  possessed  no  man- 
of-war,  or,  indeed,  any  craft  more  formidable  than  the 
police  motor-launch,  and  secondly  because  the  authori- 
ties in  Herakleion  knew  well  enough  that  Italy,  for 
reasons  of  her  own,  neither  wholly  idealistic  nor 
disinterested,  would  never  tolerate  the  complete 
destruction  of  Aphros.  Moreover,  it  would  be  hopeless 
to  attempt  to  starve  out  an  island  whose  population 
lived  almost  entirely  upon  the  fish  caught  round  their 
own  shores,  the  vegetables  and  fruit  grown  upon  their 
own  hillsides,  the  milk  and  cheeses  from  their  own 
rough-feeding  goats,  and  the  occasional  but  sufficient 
meat  from  their  own  sheep  and  bullocks. 

'Kyrie,'  said  Tsigaridis,  'should  we  not  move  into 
shelter  ? ' 

Julian  abandoned  the  headland  regretfully.  For  his 
own  post  he  had  chosen  the  Davenant  house  in  the 
village.  He  calculated  that  Panaioannou,  unaware  of 
the  existence  of  a  number  of  rifles  on  the  island,  would 
make  his  first  and  principal  attempt  upon  the  port, 
expecting  there  to  encounter  a  hand  to  hand  fight  with 
a  crowd  diversely  armed  with  knives,  stones,  pitch- 
forks, and  a  few  revolvers — a  brief,  bloody,  desperate 
resistance,  whose  term  could  be  but  a  matter  of  time, 
after  which  the  village  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
invaders  and  the  rebellion  would  be  at  an  end.  At  most, 
Panaioannou  would  argue,  the  fighting  would  be  con- 
tinued up  into  the  main  street  of  the  village,  the 
horizontal  street  that  was  its  backbone,  terminating 
at  one  end  by  the  market-place  above  the  port,  and  at 
the  other  by  the  Davenants'  house;  and  ramifications 
of  fighting — a  couple  of  soldiers  here  and  there  pursuing 
a  fleeing  islander — up  the  sloping,  narrow,  stepped 
streets  running  between  the  houses,  at  right  angles 
from  the  main  street,  up  the  hill.     Julian  sat  with  his 


226  CHALLENGE 

rifle  cocked  across  his  knees  in  one  of  the  window 
recesses  of  his  own  house,  and  grinned  as  he  anticipated 
Panaioannou's  surprise.  He  did  not  want  a  massacre 
of  the  fat,  well-meaning  soldiers  of  Herakleion — the 
casino,  he  reflected,  must  be  closed  to-day,  much  to 
the  annoyance  of  the  gambling  dagos;  however,  they 
would  have  excitement  enough,  of  another  kind,  to 
console  them — he  did  not  want  a  massacre  of  the 
benevolent  croupier-soldiers  he  had  seen  parading  the 
platia  only  two  days  before,  but  he  wanted  them  taught 
that  Aphros  was  a  hornets'  nest  out  of  which  they  had 
better  keep  their  fingers.  He  thought  it  extremely 
probable  that  after  a  first  repulse  they  would  refuse  to 
renew  the  attack.  They  liked  well  enough  defiling 
across  the  platia  on  Independence  Day,  and  recognising 
their  friends  amongst  the  admiring  crowd,  but  he 
doubted  whether  they  would  appreciate  being  shot 
down  in  open  boats  by  an  enemy  they  could  not  even 
see. 

In  the  distance,  from  the  windows  of  his  own  house, 
he  heard  firing,  and  from  the  advancing  boats  he  could 
see  spurts  of  smoke.  He  discerned  a  commotion  in 
one  boat;  men  got  up  and  changed  places,  and  the 
boat  turned  round  and  began  to  row  in  the  opposite 
direction.  Young  Zapantiotis  called  to  him  from 
another  window, — 

'You  see  them,  Kyrie?  Some  one  has  been  hit.' 
Julian  laughed  exultantly.  On  a  table  near  him 
lay  a  crumpled  handkerchief  of  Eve's,  and  a  gardenia; 
he  put  the  flower  into  his  buttonhole.  Behind  all  his 
practical  plans  and  his  excitement  lay  the  memory  of 
his  few  words  with  her  in  the  passage;  under  the  stress 
of  her  emotion  she  had  revealed  a  depth  and  vehemence 
of  truth  that  he  hitherto  scarcely  dared  to  imagine. 
To-day  would  be  given  to  him  surely  more  than  his 
fair  share  for  any  mortal  man  :    a  fight,  and  the  most 


APHROS  227 

desirable  of  women  !  He  rejoiced  in  his  youth  and  his 
leaping  blood.  Yet  he  continued  sorry  for  the  kindly 
croupier-soldiers.  v 

The  boats  came  on,  encouraged  by  the  comparative 
silence  on  the  island.  Julian  was  glad  it  was  not  the 
fashion  among  the  young  men  of  Herakleion,  his  friends, 
to  belong  to  the  army.  He  wondered  what  Grbits  was 
thinking  of  him.  He  was  probably  on  the  quay, 
watching  through  a  telescope.  Or  had  the  expedition 
been  kept  a  secret  from  the  still  sleeping  Herakleion? 
Surely  !  for  he  could  distinguish  no  crowd  upon  the 
distant  quays  across  the  bay. 

A  shot  rang  out  close  at  hand,  from  some  window  of 
the  village,  and  in  one  of  the  foremost  boats  he  saw  a 
man  throw  up  his  hands  and  fall  over  backwards. 

He  sickened  slightly.  This  was  inevitable,  he  knew, 
but  he  had  no  lust  for  killing  in  this  cold-blooded 
fashion.  Kneeling  on  the  window-seat  he  took  aim 
between  the  bars  of  the  grating,  and  fired  a  quantity 
of  shots  all  round  the  boat;  they  splashed  harmlessly 
into  the  water,  but  had  the  effect  he  desired;  the  boat 
turned  round  in  retreat. 

Firing  crackled  now  from  all  parts  of  the  island. 
The  casualties  in  the  boats  increased.  In  rage  and 
panic  the  soldiers  fired  wildly  back  at  the  island, 
especially  at  the  village;  bullets  ping-ed  through  the 
air  and  rattled  on  the  roofs;  occasionally  there  came  a 
crash  of  broken  glass.  Once  Juhan  heard  a  cry,  and, 
craning  his  head  to  look  down  the  street,  he  saw  an 
islander  lying  on  his  face  on  the  ground  between  the 
houses  with  his  arms  outstretched,  blood  running  freely 
from  his  shoulder  and  staining  his  white  clothes. 

'  My  people  ! '  Julian  cried  in  a  passion,  and  shot 
dehberately  into  a  boat-load  of  men. 

'  God  ! '  he  said  to  himself  a  moment  later,  '  I've 
killed  him.' 


228  CHALLENGE 

He  laid  dowi?  his  rifle  with  a  gesture  of  horror,  and 
went  out  into  the  courtyard  where  the  fountain  still 
played  and  the  pigeons  prinked  and  preened.  He 
opened  the  door  into  the  street,  went  down  the  steps 
and  along  the  street  to  where  the  islander  lay  groaning, 
lifted  him  carefully,  and  dragged  him  into  the  shelter 
of  the  house.    Zapantiotis  met  him  in  the  court. 

'Kyrie,'  he  said,  scared  and  reproachful,  'you  should 
have  sent  me.' 

Julian  left  him  to  look  after  the  wounded  man,  and 
returned  to  the  window;  the  firing  had  slackened,  for 
the  boats  were  now  widely  dispersed  over  the  sea, 
offering  only  isolated  targets  at  a  considerable  distance. 
Time  had  passed  rapidly,  and  the  sun  had  climbed  high 
overhead,  he  looked  at  the  little  dotted  boats,  bearing 
their  burden  of  astonishment,  death,  and  pain.  Was 
it  possible  that  the  attack  had  finally  drawn  away? 

At  that  thought,  he  regretted  that  the  fighting  had  not 
given  an  opportunity  of  a  closer,  a  more  personal  struggle. 

An  hour  passed.  He  went  out  into  the  village, 
where  life  was  beginning  to  flow  once  more  into  the 
street  and  market-place;  the  villagers  came  out  to 
look  at  their  broken  \vindows,  and  their  chipped  houses; 
they  were  all  laughing  and  in  high  good-humour, 
pointing  proudly  to  the  damage,  and  laughing  like 
children  to  see  that  in  the  school-house,  which  faced 
the  sea  and  in  which  the  remaining  Greek  officials  were 
still  imprisoned,  nearly  all  the  windows  were  broken. 
JuUan,  shaking  off  the  people,  men  and  women,  who 
were  trying  to  kiss  his  hands  or  his  clothes,  appeared 
briefly  in  the  class-room  to  reassure  the  occupants. 
They  were  all  huddled  into  a  corner,  behind  a  barricade 
of  desks  and  benches.  The  one  guard  who  had  been 
left  with  them  had  spent  his  time  inventing  terrible 
stories  for  their  di.stTe?5.  The  wooden  wall  opposite  the 
windows  was  pocked  in  two  or  three  places  by  bullets. 


APHROS  229 

As  Julian  came  out  again  into  the  market-place  he 
saw  old  Tsigaridis  riding  down  on  his  great  white  mule 
from  the  direction  of  the  hills,  accompanied  by  two 
runners  on  foot.  He  waited  while  the  mule  picked  its 
way  carefully  and  delicately  down  the  stepped  path 
that  led  from  the  other  side  of  the  market-place  up 
into  the  interior  of  the  island. 

'They  are  beaten  off,  Tsantilas.' 

'No  imprudences,'  said  the  grave  old  man,  and 
recommended  to  the  people,  who  came  crowding  round 
his  mule,  to  keep  within  the  shelter  of  their  houses. 

'But,  Tsantilas,  we  have  the  boats  within  our  sight; 
they  cannot  return  without  our  knowledge  in  ample 
time  to  seek  shelter.' 

'There  is  one  boat  for  which  we  cannot  account — 
the  motor-boat — it  is  swift  and  may  yet  take  us  by 
surprise,'  Tsigaridis  replied  pessimistically. 

He  dismounted  from  his  mule,  and  walked  up  the 
street  with  Julian  by  his  side,  while  the  people,  crest- 
fallen, dispersed  with  lagging  footsteps  to  their 
respective  doorways.  The  motor-launch,  it  would 
appear,  had  been  heard  in  the  far  distance,  '  over  there,' 
said  Tsigaridis,  extending  his  left  arm;  the  pickets 
upon  the  eastern  coasts  of  the  island  had  distinctly 
heard  the  echo  of  its  engines — it  was,  fortunately, 
old  and  noisy — but  early  in  the  morning  the  sound 
had  ceased,  and  since  then  had  not  once  been  renewed. 
Tsigaridis  inferred  that  the  launch  was  lying  somewhere 
in  concealment  amongst  the  tiny  islands,  from  where  it 
would  emerge,  unexpectedly  and  in  an  unexpected 
place,  to  attack. 

'It  must  carry  at  least  fifty  men,'  he  added. 

JuHan  revelled  in  the  news.  A  motor-launch  with  such 
a  crew  would  provide  worthier  game  than  Uttle  cockle- 
shell rowing-boats.  Panaioannou  himself  might  be  of  the 
party,    Julian  saw  the  general  already  as  his  prisoner. 


230  CHALLENGE 

He  remembered  Eve.  So  long  as  the  launch  lay  in 
hiding  he  could  not  allow  her  to  return  to  the  village. 
It  was  even  possible  that  they  might  have  a  small  gun 
on  board.  He  wanted  to  see  her,  he  ached  with  the 
desire  to  see  her,  but,  an  instinctive  Epicurean,  he 
welcomed  the  circumstances  that  forced  him  to  defer 
their  meeting  until  nightfall.  .  .  . 

He  wrote  her  a  note  on  a  leaf  of  his  pocket-book, 
and  despatched  it  to  her  by  one  of  Tsigaridis'  runners. 

The  hours  of  waiting  fretted  him,  and  to  ease  his 
impatience  he  started  on  a  tour  of  the  island  with 
Tsigaridis.  They  rode  on  mules,  nose  to  tail  along  the 
winding  paths,  not  chmbing  up  into  the  interior,  but 
keeping  to  the  lower  track  that  ran  above  the  sea, 
upon  the  first  flat  ledge  of  the  rock,  all  around  the 
island.  In  some  places  the  path  was  so  narrow  and  so 
close  to  the  edge  that  Julian  could,  by  leaning  side- 
ways in  his  saddle,  look  straight  down  the  chff  into 
the  water  swirHng  and  foaming  below.  He  was  famiUar 
with  almost  every  creek,  so  often  had  he  bathed  there  as 
a  boy.    Looking  at  the  foam,  he  murmured  to  himself, — 

'Aphros.  .  .  .' 

There  were  no  houses  here  among  the  rocks,  and  no 
trees,  save  for  an  occasional  group  of  pines,  whose 
little  cones  clustered  among  the  silvery  branches,  quite 
black  against  the  sky.  Here  and  there,  above  creeks 
or  the  Httle  sandy  beaches  where  a  landing  for  a  small 
boat  would  have  been  possible,  the  picket  of  islanders 
had  come  out  from  their  shelter  behind  the  boulders, 
and  were  sitting  talking  on  the  rocks,  holding  their 
rifles  upright  between  their  knees,  while  a  soUtary 
sentinel  kept  watch  at  the  extremity  of  the  point,  his 
kilted  figure  white  as  the  circUng  seagulls  or  as  the 
foam.  A  sense  of  lull  and  of  siesta  lay  over  the  after- 
noon. At  every  picket  Julian  asked  the  same  question, 
and  at  every  picket  the  same  answer  was  returned,-— 


APHROS  231 

'We  have  heard  no  engines  since  earliest  morning, 
Kyrie.' 

Round  the  curve  of  the  island,  the  first  tiny, 
uninhabited  islands  came  into  view.  Some  of  them 
were  mere  rocks  sticking  up  out  of  the  sea;  others,  a 
little  larger,  grew  a  few  trees,  and  a  boat  could  have 
hidden,  invisible  from  Aphros,  on  their  farther  side. 
JuHan  looked  longingly  at  the  narrow  stretches  of 
water  which  separated  them.  He  even  suggested 
starting  to  look  for  the  launch. 

'It  would  be  madness,  Kyrie.' 

Above  a  Httle  bay,  where  the  ground  sloped  down 
less  abruptly,  and  where  the  sand  ran  gently  down 
under  the  thin  wavelets,  they  halted  with  the  picket 
of  that  particular  spot.  Their  mules  were  led  away 
by  a  runner.  Julian  enjoyed  sitting  amongst  these 
men,  hearing  them  talk,  and  watching  them  roll 
cigarette  after  cigarette  with  the  practised  skill  of  their 
knotty  fingers.  Through  the  sharp  Hues  of  their 
professional  talk,  and  the  dignity  of  their  pleasant 
trades — for  they  were  all  fishermen,  vintagers,  or  sheep 
and  goat -herds — he  smiled  to  the  hidden  secret  of  Eve, 
and  fancied  that  the  soft  muslin  of  her  garments  brushed, 
as  at  the  passage  of  a  ghost,  against  the  rude  woollen 
garments  of  the  men;  that  her  hands,  little  and  white 
and  idle,  fluttered  over  their  hardened  hands;  that  he 
alone  could  see  her  pass  amongst  their  group,  smile  to 
him,  and  vanish  down  the  path.  He  was  drowsy  in  the 
drowsy  afternoon;  he  felt  that  he  had  fought  and  had 
earned  his  rest,  and,  moreover,  was  prepared  to  rise 
from  his  sleep  with  new  strength  to  fight  again.  Rest 
between  a  battle  and  a  battle.  Strife,  sleep,  and  love; 
love,  sleep,  and  strife;   a  worthy  plan  of  hfe  ! 

He  slept. 

When  he  woke  the  men  still  sat  around  him,  talking 
still  of  their  perennial  trades,   and   without   opening 


232  CHALLENGE 

his  eyes  he  lay  Hstening  to  them,  and  thought  that  in 
such  a  simple  world  the  coming  and  going  of  generations 
was  indeed  of  slight  moment,  since  in  the  talk  of  crops 
and  harvests,  of  the  waxing  and  waning  of  moons,  of 
the  treachery  of  the  sea  or  the  fidehty  of  the  land,  the 
words  of  the  ancestor  might  slip  unchanged  as  an 
inheritance  to  grandson  and  great-grandson.  Of  such 
kindred  were  they  with  nature,  that  he  in  his  half- 
wakefulness  barely  distinguished  the  voices  of  the  men 
from  the  wash  of  waves  on  the  shore.  He  opened  his 
eyes.  The  sun,  which  he  had  seen  rising  out  of  the  sea  in 
the  dawn,  after  sweeping  in  its  great  flaming  arc  across 
the  sky,  had  sunk  again  under  the  horizon.  Heavy  purple 
clouds  like  outpoured  wine  stained  the  orange  of  the 
west.    The  colour  of  the  sea  was  hke  the  flesh  of  a  fig. 

Unmistakably,  the  throb  of  an  engine  woke  the 
echoes  between  the  islands. 

AU  eyes  met,  all  voices  hushed;  tense,  they  listened. 
The  sound  grew;  from  a  continuous  purr  it  changiHj 
into  separate  beats.  By  mutual  consent,  and  acting 
under  no  word  of  command,  the  men  sought  the  cover 
of  their  boulders,  clambering  over  the  rocks,  carrying 
their  rifles  with  them,  white,  noiseless,  and  swift. 
JuUan  found  himself  with  three  others  in  a  species  of 
little  cave  the  opening  of  which  commanded  the  beach; 
the  cave  was  low,  and  they  were  obliged  to  crouch; 
one  man  knelt  down  at  the  mouth  with  his  rifle  ready 
to  put  to  his  shoulder.  Julian  could  smell,  in  that 
restricted  place,  the  rough  smeU  of  their  woollen  clothes, 
and  the  tang  of  the  goat  which  clung  about  one  man, 
who  must  be  a  goat-herd. 

Then  before  their  crouching  position  could  begin  to 
weary  them,  the  beat  of  the  engines  became  insistent, 
imminent;  and  the  launch  shot  round  the  curve,  loaded 
\Aith  standing  men,  and  heading  directly  for  the  beach. 
A  volley  of  fire  greeted  them,  but  the  soldierR  were 


APHROS  233 

already  overboard,  waist-deep  in  water,  plunging 
towards  the  shore  with  their  rifles  held  high  over  their 
heads,  while  the  crew  of  the  launch  violently  reversed 
the  engines  and  drove  themselves  off  the  sand  by  means 
of  long  poles,  to  save  the  launch  from  an  irrevocable 
grounding.  The  attack  was  well  planned,  and  executed 
by  men  who  knew  intimately  the  he  of  the  coast.  With 
loud  shouts,  they  emerged  dripping  from  the  water 
on  to  the  beach. 

They  were  at  least  forty  strong;  the  island  picket 
numbered  only  a  score,  but  they  had  the  advantage 
of  concealment.  A  few  of  the  soldiers  dropped  while 
yet  in  the  water;  others  fell  forward  on  to  their  faces 
with  their  legs  in  the  water  and  their  heads  and  shoulders 
on  dry  land;  many  gained  a  footing  but  were  shot 
down  a  few  yards  from  the  edge  of  the  sea;  the  sur- 
vivors flung  themselves  flat  behind  hummocks  of  rock 
and  fired  in  the  direction  of  the  defending  fire.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  have  taken  place  within  the  compass 
of  two  or  three  minutes.  Julian  had  himself  picked 
off  three  of  the  invaders;  his  blood  was  up,  and  he  had 
lost  all  the  sickening  sense  of  massacre  he  had  felt 
during  the  early  part  of  the  day. 

He  never  knew  how  the  hand  to  hand  fight  actually 
began;  he  only  knew  that  suddenly  he  was  out  of  the 
cave,  in  the  open,  without  a  rifle,  but  with  his  revolver 
in  his  grasp,  backed  and  surrounded  by  his  own  shouting 
men,  and  confronted  by  the  soldiers  of  Herakleion, 
heavily  impeded  by  their  wet  trousers,  but  fighting 
sheerly  for  their  Hves,  striving  to  get  at  him,  losing 
their  heads  and  aiming  wildly,  throwing  aside  their 
rifles  and  grappling  at  last  bodily  with  their  enemies, 
struggling  not  to  be  driven  back  into  the  sea,  cursing 
the  islanders,  and  calling  to  one  another  to  rally, 
stumbling  over  the  dead  and  the  wounded.  Julian 
scarcely  recognised  his   own   voice   in   the  shout  of, 

C.  Q 


234  CHALLENGE 

'Aphros  !'  He  was  full  of  the  lust  of  fighting;  he  had 
seen  men  roll  over  before  the  shot  of  his  revolver,  and 
had  driven  them  do'^ni  before  the  weight  of  his  fist. 
He  was  fighting  joyoasi;;^',  stnking  among  the  waves 
of  his  enemies  as  a  swimmer  striking  out  against  a 
corrent.  All  his  thought  was  to  kill,  and  to  rid  iiis 
island  of  these  invaders;  already  the  tide  had  turned, 
and  that  subtle  sense  of  defeat  and  victory  that  comes 
upon  the  crest  of  battle  was  infusing  respectively 
despair  and  triumph.  There  was  now  no  doubt  in 
the  minds  of  either  the  attackers  or  the  defenders  in 
whose  favour  the  attack  would  end.  There  remained 
but  three  alternatives  :    surrender,  death,  or  the  sea. 

Already  many  were  choosing  the  first,  and  those 
that  turned  in  the  hope  of  regaining  the  launch  were 
shot  down  or  captured  before  they  reached  the  water. 
The  prisoners,  disarmed,  stood  aside  in  a  little  sulky 
group  under  the  guard  of  one  islander,  watching, 
resignedly,  and  with  a  certain  indifference  bom  of 
their  own  secession  from  activity,  the  swa5dng  clump 
of  men,  shouting,  swearing,  and  stumbling,  and  the 
feeble  efforts  of  the  wounded  to  drag  themselves  out 
of  the  way  of  the  trampling  feet.  The  sand  of  the 
beach  was  in  some  places,  where  blood  had  been  spilt, 
stamped  into  a  dark  mud.  A  wounded  soldier,  lying 
half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water,  cried  out  pitiably  as 
the  salt  water  lapped  over  his  wounds. 

The  decision  was  hastened  by  the  crew  of  the  launch, 
who,  seeing  a  bare  dozen  of  their  companions  rapidly 
overpowered  by  a  superior  number  of  islanders,  and 
having  themselves  no  fancy  to  be  picked  off  at  leisure 
from  the  shore,  started  their  engines  and  made  off 
to  sea.  At  that  a  cry  of  dismay  went  up;  retreat,  as 
an  alternative,  was  entirely  withdrawn;  death  an 
empty  and  unnecessary  display  of  heroism;  surrender 
remained;   they  chose  it  thankfully. 


ni 

Julian  never  knew,  nor  did  he  stop  to  inquire,  why 
Eve  had  returned  to  the  village  without  his  sanction. 
He  only  knew  that  as  he  came  up  the  street,  escorted  by 
all  the  population,  singing,  pressing  around  him,  taking 
his  hands,  throwing  flowers  and  even  fruit  in  his  path, 
holding  up  their  children  for  him  to  touch,  he  saw  her 
standing  in  the  doorway  of  their  house,  the  Hghted 
courtyard  yellow  behind  her.  She  stood  there  on  the 
highest  of  the  three  steps,  her  hands  held  out  towards 
him.  He  knew,  too,  although  no  word  was  spoken,  that 
the  village  recognised  them  as  lovers.  He  felt  again 
the  triumphant  completeness  of  Ufe;  a  fulfilment, 
beyond  the  possibihty  of  that  staid  world  that,  some- 
where, moved  upon  its  confused,  mercenary,  mistaken, 
and  restricted  way.  Here,  the  indignities  of  hypocrisy 
were  indeed  remote.  There,  men  shorn  of  candour 
entangled  the  original  impulse  of  their  motives  until 
in  a  sea  of  perplexity  they  abandoned  even  to  the 
ultimate  grace  of  self -honesty;  here,  in  an  island  of 
enchantment,  he  had  fought  for  his  dearest  and 
most  constituent  beliefs — O  honourable  privilege ! 
unhindered  and  rare  avowal ! — fought,  not  with  secret 
weapons,  but  with  the  manhood  of  his  body;  and  here, 
under  the  eyes  of  fellow-creatures,  their  presence  no 
more  obtrusive  than  the  presence  of  the  sea  or  the 
evening  breeze,  under  their  unquestioning  eyes  he 
claimed  the  just  reward,  the  consmnmation,  the  right 
of  youth,  which  in  that  pharisaiceJ  world  would  have 
been  denied  him. 

Eve  herself  was  familiar  with  his  mood.     Whereas 
he  had  noted,  marvelled,  and  rejoiced  at  the  simplicity 

235 


236  CHALLENGE 

with  which  they  came  together,  before  that  friendly 
concourse  of  people,  she  had  stretched  out  her  hands 
to  him  with  an  unthinking  gesture  of  possession.  She 
had  kept  her  counsel  during  the  unpropitious  years, 
with  a  secrecy  beyond  the  determination  of  a  child; 
but  here,  having  gained  him  for  her  own;  having 
enticed  him  into  the  magical  country  where  the 
standards  drew  near  to  her  own  standards;  where  she,  on 
the  one  hand,  no  less  than  he  upon  the  other,  might  fight 
with  the  naked  weapons  of  nature  for  her  desires  and 
beliefs — here  she  walked  it  home  and  without  surprise  in 
the  perfect  liberty;  that  liberty  which  he  accepted  with 
gratitude,  but  she  as  a  right  out  of  which  man  elsewhere 
was  cheated.  He  had  always  been  surprised,  on  the 
rare  occasions  when  a  hint  of  her  philosophy,  a  fragment 
of  her  creed,  had  dropped  from  her  lips  unawares. 
From  these  fragments  he  had  been  incapable  of  recon- 
structing the  whole.  He  had  judged  her  harshly,  too 
young  and  too  ignorant  to  query  whether  the  falseness 
of  convention  cannot  drive  those,  temperamentally 
direct  and  uncontrolled,  into  the  self-defence  of  a 
superlative  falseness.  ...  He  had  seen  her  vanity; 
he  had  not  seen  what  he  was  now,  because  himself  in 
sympathy,  beginning  to  apprehend,  her  whole-hearted- 
ness  that  was,  in  its  way,  so  magnificent.  Very,  very 
dimly  he  apprehended;  his  apprehension,  indeed, 
limited  chiefly  to  the  recognition  of  a  certain  correlation 
in  her  to  the  vibrant  demands  alive  in  him  :  he  asked 
from  her,  weakness  to  fling  his  strength  into  relief; 
submission  to  entice  his  tyranny;  yet  at  the  same  time, 
passion  to  match  his  passion,  and  mettle  to  exalt  his 
conquest  in  his  own  eyes;  she  must  be  nothing  less 
than  the  whole  grace  and  rarity  of  hfe  for  his  pleasure; 
flattery,  in  short,  at  once  subtle  and  blatant,  supreme 
and  meticulous,  was  what  he  demanded,  and  what 
she  was,  he  knew,  so  instinctively  ready  to  accord. 


APHROS  237 

As  she  put  her  hand  into  his,  he  felt  the  current  of 
her  pride  as  definitely  as  though  he  had  seen  a  glance 
of  understanding  pass  between  her  and  the  women  of 
the  village.  He  looked  up  at  her,  smiling.  She  had 
contrived  for  herself  a  garment  out  of  some  strip  of 
dark  red  silk,  which  she  had  wound  round  her  body 
after  the  fashion  of  an  Indian  sari;  in  the  opening  of 
that  sombre  colour  her  throat  gleamed  more  than 
usually  white,  and  above  her  swathed  slenderness  her 
Hps  were  red  in  the  pallor  of  her  face,  and  her  waving 
hair  held  glints  of  burnish  as  the  leaves  of  autumn. 
She  was  not  inadequate  in  her  anticipation  of  his 
unspoken  demands  :  the  exploitation  of  her  sensuous 
delicacy  was  all  for  him — for  him  ! 

He  had  expected,  perhaps,  that  after  her  proud, 
frank  welcome  before  the  people,  she  would  turn  to  him 
when  they  were  alone;  but  he  found  her  manner  full 
of  a  deliberate  indifference.  She  abstained  even  from 
any  allusion  to  her  day's  anxiety.  He  was  reminded 
of  all  their  meetings  when,  after  months,  she  betrayed 
no  pleasure  at  his  return,  but  rather  avoided  him,  and 
coldly  disregarded  his  unthinking  friendhness.  Many 
a  time,  as  a  boy,  he  had  been  hurt  and  puzzled  by  this 
caprice,  which,  ever  meeting  him  unprepared,  was 
ever  renewed  by  her.  To-night  he  was  neither  hurt 
nor  puzzled,  but  with  a  grim  amusement  accepted  the 
pattern  she  set;  he  could  allow  her  the  luxury  of  a 
superficial  control.  With  the  harmony  between  them, 
they  could  play  the  game  of  pretence.  He  delighted 
in  her  unexpectedness.  Her  reticence  stirred  him, 
in  its  disconcerting  contrast  with  his  recollection  of 
her  as  he  had  left  her  that  morning.  She  moved  from 
the  court  into  the  drawing-room,  and  from  the  drawing- 
room  back  into  the  court,  and  he  followed  her,  im- 
personal as  she  herself,  battening  down  all  outward 
sign  of  his  triumph,  granting  her  the  grace  of  that 


238  CHALLENGE 

Epicurean  and  ironic  chivalry.  He  knew  their  quietness 
was  ominous.  They  moved  and  spoke  Hke  people  in 
the  near,  unescapable  neighbourhood  of  a  wild  beast, 
whose  attention  they  must  on  no  account  arouse,  whose 
presence  they  must  not  mention,  while  each  intensely 
aware  of  the  peril,  and  each  alive  to  the  other's  knowledge 
of  it.  She  spoke  and  laughed,  and  he,  in  response  to  her 
laughter,  smiled  gravely;  silence  fell,  and  she  broke  it;  she 
thought  that  he  took  pleasure  in  testing  her  power  of  reviv- 
ing their  protective  talk;  the  effort  increased  in  difficulty; 
he  seemed  to  her  strangely  and  paralysingly  sinister. 

Harmony  between  them  !  if  such  harmony  existed, 
it  was  surely  the  harmony  of  hostihty.  They  were 
enemies  that  evening,  not  friends.  If  an  understanding 
existed,  it  was,  on  her  part,  the  understanding  that  he 
was  mocking  her;  on  his  part,  the  understanding  that 
she,  in  her  fear,  must  preserve  the  veneer  of  self- 
assurance,  and  that  some  fundamental  convention — 
if  the  term  was  not  too  inherently  contradictory — 
demanded  his  co-operation.  He  granted  it.  On  other 
occasions  his  manner  towards  her  might  be  rough, 
violent,  uncontroUed;  this  evening  it  was  of  an  irre- 
proachable civiUty.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
felt  herself  at  a  disadvantage.  She  invented  pretext 
after  feverish  pretext  for  prolonging  their  evening. 
She  knew  that  if  she  could  once  bring  a  forgetful  laugh 
to  Julian's  Hps,  she  would  fear  him  less;  but  he  continued 
to  smile  gravely  at  her  sallies,  and  to  watch  her  with 
that  same  unbending  intent.  In  the  midst  of  her 
phrase  she  would  look  up,  meet  his  eyes  bent  upon 
her,  and  forget  her  words  in  confusion.  Once  he  rose, 
and  stretched  his  limbs  luxuriously  against  the  back- 
ground of  the  open  roof  and  the  stars;  she  thought  he 
would  speak,  but  to  her  rehef  he  sat  down  again  in  his 
place,  removed  his  eyes  from  her,  and  fell  to  the  dis- 
section, grain  by  grain,  of  a  bunch  of  grapes. 


APHROS  239 

She  continued  to  speak;  she  talked  of  Kato,  even 
of  Alexander  Christopoulos;  she  scarcely  knew  he  was 
not  listening  to  her  until  he  broke  with  her  name  into 
the  heart  of  her  sentence,  unaware  that  he  interrupted. 
He  stood  up,  came  round  to  her  chair,  and  put  his  hand 
upon  her  shoulder;  she  could  not  control  her  trembUng. 
He  said  briefly,  but  with  all  the  repressed  triumph 
ringing  in  his  voice,  'Eve,  come';  and  without  a 
word  she  obeyed,  her  eyes  fastened  to  his,  her  breath 
shortened,  deceit  fallen  from  her,  nothing  but  naked 
honesty  remaining.  She  had  lost  even  her  fear  of 
him.  In  their  stark  desire  for  each  other  they  were 
equals.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  extinguished  the 
candles;   dimness  fell  over  the  court. 

'Eve,'  he  said,  still  in  that  contained  voice,  'you 
know  we  are  alone  in  this  house.' 

She  acquiesced,  'I  know,'  not  meaning  to  speak  in 
a  whisper,  but  involuntarily  letting  the  words  glide 
out  with  her  breath. 

As  he  paused,  she  felt  his  hand  convulsive  upon 
her  shoulder;  her  lids  lay  shut  upon  her  eyes  like 
heavy  petals.     Presently  he  said  wonderingly, — 

'I  have  not  kissed  you.' 

'No,'  she  replied,  faint,  yet  marvellously  strong. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  half  carried  her 
towards  the  stairs. 

'Let  me  go,'  she  whispered,  for  the  sake  of  his 
contradiction. 

'No,'  he  answered,  holding  her  more  closely  to  him. 

'Where  are  you  taking  me,  Julian?' 

He  did  not  reply,  but  together  they  began  to  mount 
the  stairs,  she  failing  and  drooping  against  his  arm, 
her  eyes  still  closed  and  her  lips  apart.  They  reached 
her  room,  bare,  full  of  shadows,  whitewashed,  with 
the  windows  open  upon  the  black  moonlit  sea. 

*  Eve  ! '  he  murmured  exultantly.     '  Aphros  !  .  ,  ,* 


IV 

The  Ijnic  of  their  early  days  of  love  piped  clear  and 

sweet  upon  the  terraces  of  Aphros. 

Their  surroundings  entered  into  a  joyous  conspiracy 
with  their  youth.  Between  halcyon  sky  and  sea  the 
island  lay  radiantly;  as  it  were  suspended,  unattached, 
coloured  like  a  rainbow,  and  magic  with  the  enchant- 
ment of  its  isolation.  The  very  foam  which  broke 
around  its  rocks  served  to  define,  by  its  lacy  fringe  of 
white,  the  compass  of  the  magic  circle.  To  them  were 
granted  solitude  and  beauty  beyond  all  dreams  of 
lovers.  They  dwelt  in  the  certainty  that  no  intruder 
could  disturb  them — save  those  intruders  to  be  beaten 
off  in  frank  fight — no  visitor  from  the  outside  world 
but  those  that  came  on  wings,  swooping  down  out  of 
the  sky,  poising  for  an  instant  upon  the  island,  that 
halting  place  in  the  heart  of  the  sea,  and  flying  again 
with  restless  cries,  sea-birds,  the  only  disturbers  of 
their  peace.  From  the  shadow  of  the  olives,  or  of  the 
stunted  pines  whose  little  cones  hung  like  black  velvet 
balls  in  the  transparent  tracery  of  the  branches  against 
the  sky,  they  lay  idly  watching  the  gulls,  and  the  tiny 
white  clouds  by  which  the  blue  was  almost  always 
flaked.  The  population  of  the  island  melted  into  a 
harmony  with  nature  like  the  trees,  the  rocks  and 
boulders,  or  the  roving  flocks  of  sheep  and  herds  of 
goats.  Eve  and  Julian  met  with  neither  curiosity  nor 
surprise;  only  with  acquiescence.  Daily  as  they  passed 
down  the  village  street,  to  wander  up  the  mule-tracks 
into  the  interior  of  Aphros,  they  were  greeted  by  smiles 
and  devotion  that  were  as  unquestioning  and  comfort- 
able as  the  shade  of  the  trees  or  the  cool  splash  of  the 

240 


APHROS  241 

water;  and  nightly  as  they  remained  alone  together 
in  their  house,  dark,  roofed  over  with  stars,  and  silent 
but  for  the  ripple  of  the  fountain,  they  could  believe 
that  they  had  been  tended  by  invisible  hands  in  the 
island  over  which  they  reigned  in  isolated  sovereignty. 

They  abandoned  themselves  to  the  unbelievable 
romance.  He,  indeed,  had  striven  half-heartedly; 
but  she,  with  all  the  strength  of  her  nature,  had  run 
gratefully,  nay,  clamantly,  forward,  exacting  the 
reward  of  her  patience,  demanding  her  due.  She 
rejoiced  in  the  casting  aside  of  shackles  which,  although 
she  had  resolutely  ignored  them  in  so  far  as  was  possible, 
had  always  irked  her  by  their  latent  presence.  At  last 
she  might  gratify  to  the  full  her  creed  of  Hving  for  and 
by  the  beloved,  in  a  world  of  beauty  where  the  material 
was  denied  admittance.  In  such  a  dream,  such  an 
ecstasy  of  solitude,  they  gained  marvellously  in  one 
another's  eyes.  She  revealed  to  Julian  the  full  extent 
of  her  difference  and  singularity.  For  all  their  nearness 
in  the  human  sense,  he  received  sometimes  with  a  joyful 
terror  the  impression  that  he  was  hving  in  the  com- 
panionship of  a  changeling,  a  being  strayed  by  accident 
from  another  plane.  The  small  moralities  and  tender- 
nesses of  mankind  contained  no  meaning  for  her.  They 
were  burnt  away  by  the  devastating  flame  of  her  own 
ideals.  He  knew  now,  irrefutably,  that  she  had  hved 
her  life  withdrawn  from  all  but  external  contact  with 
her  surroundings. 

Her  sensuaHty,  which  betrayed  itself  even  in  the 
selection  of  the  arts  she  loved,  had  marked  her  out  for 
human  passion.  He  had  observed  her  instinct  to  deck 
herself  for  his  pleasure;  he  had  learnt  the  fastidious 
refinement  with  which  she  surrounded  her  body.  He 
had  marked  her  further  instinct  to  turn  the  conduct 
of  their  love  into  a  fine  art.  She  had  taught  him 
the    value   of  her  reserve,  her   evasions,   and  of  her 


242  CHALLENGE 

sudden  recklessness.  He  never  discovered,  and,  no  less 
epicurean  than  she,  never  sought  to  discover,  how  far 
her  principles  were  innate,  unconscious,  or  how  far 
dehberate.  They  both  tacitly  esteemed  the  veil  of 
some  sUght  mystery  to  soften  the  harshness  of  their 
self-revelation. 

He  dared  not  invoke  the  aid  of  unshrinking  honesty 
to  apportion  the  values  between  their  physical  and 
their  mental  affinity. 

What  was  it,  this  bond  of  flesh?  so  material,  yet 
so  imperative,  so  compelling,  as  to  become  almost  a 
spiritual,  not  a  bodily,  necessity?  so  transitory,  yet 
so  recurrent  ?  dying  down  like  a  flame,  to  revive  again  ? 
so  unimportant,  so  grossly  commonplace,  yet  creating 
so  close  and  tremulous  an  intimacy?  this  magic  that 
drew  together  their  hands  like  fluttering  butterflies 
in  the  hours  of  sunlight,  and  hnked  them  in  the  abandon- 
ment of  mastery  and  surrender  in  the  hours  of  night? 
that  swept  aside  the  careful  training,  individual  and 
hereditary,  replacing  pride  by  another  pride?  this 
unique  and  mutual  secret?  this  fallacious  yet  funda- 
mental and  dominating  bond?  this  force,  hurling  them 
together  wth  such  cosmic  power  that  within  the  circle 
of  frail  human  entity  rushed  furiously  the  tempest  of 
an  inexorable  law  of  nature  ? 

They  had  no  tenderness  for  one  another.  Such 
tenderness  as  might  have  crept  into  the  relationship 
they  collaborated  in  destroying,  choosing  to  dwell  in 
the  strong  clean  air  of  mountain-tops,  shunning  the 
ease  of  the  valleys.  Violence  was  never  very  far  out 
of  sight.  They  loved  proudly,  with  a  flame  that  purged 
all  from  their  love  but  the  essential,  the  ideal  passion. 

'I  Uve  with  a  Maenad,'  he  said,  putting  out  his  hand 
and  bathing  his  fingers  in  her  loosened  hair. 

From  the  rough  shelter  of  reeds  and  matting  where 
thev    'dJ^d    then   among  the   terraced   vineyards,   the 


APHROS  243 

festoons  of  the  vines  and  the  bright  reds  and  yellows  of 
the  splay  leaves,  brilliant  against  the  sun,  framed  her 
consonant  grace.  The  beautiful  shadows  of  lacing 
vines  dappled  the  ground,  and  the  quick  lizards  darted 
upon  the  rough  terrace  walls. 

He  said,  pursuing  his  thought, — 

'You  have  never  the  wish  of  other  women — 
permanency?  a  house  with  me?  never  the  inkUng 
of  such  a  wish?' 

'Trammels!'  she  rephed,  'I've  always  hated  posses- 
sions.' 

He  considered  her  at  great  length,  playing  with  her 
hair,  fitting  his  fingers  into  its  waving  thicknesses, 
putting  his  cheek  against  the  softness  of  her  cheek, 
and  laughing. 

'My  changeling.     My  nymph,'  he  said. 

She  lay  silent,  her  arms  folded  behind  her  head, 
and  her  eyes  on  him  as  he  continued  to  utter  his  dis- 
connected sentences. 

'Where  is  the  Eve  of  Herakleion?  The  mask  you 
wore  !  I  dwelt  only  upon  your  insignificant  vanity, 
and  in  your  pride  you  made  no  defence.  Most  secret 
pride !  Incredible  chastity  of  mind !  Inviolate  of 
soul,  to  all  ahke.  Inviolate,  Most  rare  restraint ! 
The  expansive  vulgarity  of  the  crowd !   My  Eve  .  .  . ' 

He  began  again, — 

'So  rarely,  so  stainlessly  mine.  Beyond  mortal 
hopes.  You  allowed  all  to  misjudge  you,  myself 
included.  You  smiled,  not  even  wistfully,  lest  that 
betray  you,  and  said  nothing.  You  held  yourself 
withdrawn.  You  perfected  your  superficial  hfe.  That 
profound  humour.  ...  I  could  not  think  you  shaUow 
— not  all  your  pretence  could  disguise  your  mystery — 
but,  may  I  be  forgiven,  I  have  thought  you  shallow 
in  all  but  mischief.  I  prophesied  for  you' — he  laughed 
—'a  great  career  as  a  destroyer  of  men.     A  great 


244  CHALLENGE 

courtesan.  But  instead  I  find  you  a  great  lover.  Une 
grande  amour euse.' 

'If  that  is  mischievous,'  she  said,  'my  love  for 
you  goes  beyond  mischief;  it  would  stop  short  of  no 
crime.' 

He  put  his  face  between  his  hands  for  a  second. 

'I  believe  you;    I  know  it.' 

'I  understand  love  in  no  other  way,*  she  said, 
sitting  up  and  shaking  her  hair  out  of  her  eyes;  'I  am 
single-hearted.  It  is  selfish  love  :  I  would  die  for  you, 
gladly,  without  a  thought,  but  I  would  sacrifice  my 
claim  on  you  to  no  one  and  to  nothing.  It  is  all- 
exorbitant.  I  make  enormous  demands.  I  must  have 
you  exclusively  for  myself.' 

He  teased  her, — 

'You  refuse  to  marry  me.' 

She  was  serious. 

'Freedom,  Julian!  romance!  The  world  before 
us,  to  roam  at  will;  fairs  to  dance  at;  strange  people 
to  consort  with,  to  see  the  smile  in  their  eyes,  and  the 
tolerant  "  Lovers  ' "  forming  on  their  lips.  To  tweak 
the  nose  of  Propriety,  to  snatch  away  the  chair  on  which 
she  would  sit  down  !  Who  in  their  senses  would  harness 
the  divine  courser  to  a  mail-cart  ? ' 

She  seemed  to  him  lit  by  an  inner  radiance,  that 
shone  through  her  eyes  and  glowed  richly  in  her  smile. 

'  Vagabond  I '  he  said.    '  Is  life  to  be  one  long  carnival  ? ' 

'And  one  long  honesty.  I'll  own  you  before  the 
world — and  court  its  disapproval.  I'll  release  you — 
no,  I'll  leave  you — when  you  tire  of  me.  I  wouldn't 
clip  love's  golden  wings.  I  wouldn't  irk  you  with 
promises,  blackmail  you  into  perjury,  wring  from  you 
an  oath  we  both  should  know  was  made  only  to  be 
broken.  We'll  leave  that  to  middle-age.  Middle-age 
— I  have  been  told  there  is  such  a  thing?  Sometimes 
it  is  fat,  sometimes  it  is  wan,  surely  it  is  always  dreary  I 


APHROS  245 

!t  may  be  wise  and  successful  and  contented.  Some- 
times, I'm  told,  it  even  loves.  We  are  young.  Youth  !' 
sue  said,  sinking  her  voice,  'the  winged  and  the  divine.' 

WTien  he  talked  to  her  about  the  Islands,  she  did 
not  listen,  aitiioagh  she  dared  not  check  him.  He 
talked,  striving  to  interest  her,  to  fire  her  enthusiasm. 
He  talked,  with  his  eyes  always  upon  the  sea,  since 
some  obscure  instinct  warned  him  not  to  keep  them 
bent  upon  her  face;  sometimes  they  were  amongst  the 
vines,  which  in  the  glow  of  their  September  bronze 
and  amber  resembled  the  wine  flowing  from  their  fruits, 
and  from  here  the  sea  shimmered,  crudely  and  cruelly 
blue  between  those  flaming  leaves,  undulating  into 
smooth,  nacreous  folds;  sometimes  they  were  amongst 
the  rocks  on  the  lower  levels,  on  a  windier  day,  when 
white  crests  spurted  from  the  waves,  and  the  foam  broke 
with  a  lacy  violence  against  the  island  at  the  edge  of  the 
green  shallows;  and  sometimes,  after  dusk,  they  climbed 
to  the  olive  terraces  beneath  the  moon  that  rose  through 
the  trees  in  a  world  strangely  gray  and  silver,  strangely 
and  contrastingly  deprived  of  colour.  He  talked,  lying 
on  the  ground,  with  his  hands  pressed  close  against  the 
soil  of  Aphros.  Its  contact  gave  him  the  courage  he 
needed.  ...  He  talked  doggedly;  in  the  first  week 
with  the  fire  of  inspiration,  after  that  with  the  persever- 
ance of  loyalty.  These  monologues  ended  always  in 
the  same  way.  He  would  bring  his  glance  from  the 
sea  to  her  face,  would  break  off  his  phrase  in  the  middle, 
and,  coming  suddenly  to  her,  would  cover  her  hair, 
her  throat,  her  mouth,  with  kisses.  Then  she  would 
turn  gladly  and  luxuriously  towards  him,  curving  in 
his  arms,  and  presently  the  grace  of  her  murmured 
speech  would  again  bewitch  him,  until  upon  her  lips 
he  forgot  the  plea  of  Aphros. 

There  were  times  when  he  struggled  to  escape  her. 


246  CHALLENGE 

his  physical  and  mental  activity  rebelling  against  the 
subjection  in  which  she  held  him.  He  protested  that 
the  affairs  of  the  Islands  claimed  him;  that  Herakleion 
had  granted  but  a  month  loi  negotiations;  precautions 
must  be  taken,  and  the  scheme  of  government  amplified 
and  consolidated.  Then  the  angry  look  came  over  her 
face,  and  all  the  bitterness  of  her  resentment  broke 
loose.  Having  captured  him,  much  of  her  precocious 
wisdom  seemed  to  have  abandoned  her. 

'I  have  waited  for  you  ten  years,  yet  you  want  to 
leave  me.  Do  I  mean  less  to  you  than  the  Islands? 
I  wish  the  Islands  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  instead 
of  on  the  top  of  it,' 

'Be  careful,  Eve.' 

'I  resent  everything  which  takes  you  from  me,'  she 
said  recklessly. 

Another  time  she  cried,  murky  with  passion, — 

'  Always  these  councils  with  Tsigaridis  and  the  rest ! 
always  these  secret  messages  passing  between  you  and 
Kato  !     Give  me  that  letter.' 

He  refused,  shredding  Kate's  letter  and  scattering 
the  pieces  into  the  sea. 

'What  secrets  have  you  with  Kato,  that  you  must 
keep  from  me?' 

'They  would  have  no  interest  for  you,'  he  replied, 
remembering  that  she  was  untrustworthy — that 
canker  in  his  confidence. 

The  breeze  fanned  slightly  up  the  creek  where  they 
were  lying  on  the  sand  under  the  shadow  of  a  pine, 
and  out  in  the  dazzling  sea  a  porpoise  leapt,  turning 
its  slow  black  curve  in  the  water.  The  heat  simmered 
over  the  rocks. 

'We  share  our  love,'  he  said  morosely,  'but  no  other 
aspect  of  Hfe,  The  Islands  are  nothing  to  you.  An 
obstacle,  not  a  link.'  It  was  a  truth  that  he  rarely 
confronted. 


APHROS  247 

'You  are  wrong :  a  background,  a  setting  for  you, 
which  I  appreciate.' 

'You  appreciate  the  picturesque.  I  know.  You 
are  an  artist  in  appreciation  of  the  suitable  stage- 
setting.  But  as  for  the  rest  .  .  .'he  made  a  gesture 
full  of  sarcasm  and  renunciation. 

'Give  me  up,  JuUan,  and  all  my  shortcomings.  I 
have  always  told  you  I  had  but  one  virtue.  I  am  the 
first  to  admit  the  insufficiency  of  its  claim.  Give 
yourself  wholly  to  your  Islands.  Let  me  go.'  She 
spoke  sadly,  as  though  conscious  of  her  own  irremediable 
difference  and  perversity. 

'Yet  you  yourself — what  were  your  words? — said 
you  beUeved  in  me;  you  even  wrote  to  me,  I  remember 
still,  "  conquer,  shatter,  demolish  !  "  But  I  must 
always  struggle  against  you,  against  your  obstructions. 
What  is  it  you  want?  Liberty  and  irresponsibihty, 
to  an  insatiable  degree  ! ' 

'Because  I  love  you  insatiably.' 

'  You  are  too  unreasonable  sometimes '  ('  Reason  I ' 
she  interrupted  with  scorn,  'what  has  reason  got  to  do 
with  love  ? ')  '  you  are  unreasonable  to  grudge  me  every 
moment  I  spend  away  from  you.  Won't  you  reahse 
that  I  am  responsible  for  five  thousand  hves?  You 
must  let  me  go  now;  only  for  an  hour.  I  promise  to 
come  back  to  you  in  an  hour.' 

'Are  you  tired  of  me  already?' 

'Eve.  .  .  .' 

'When  we  were  in  Herakleion,  you  were  always 
sa5nng  you  must  go  to  Kato;  now  you  are  always 
going  to  some  council;  am  I  never  to  have  you  to 
myself  ? ' 

'I  will  go  only  for  an  hour.  I  must  go,  Eve,  my 
darUng.' 

'Stay  with  me,  Julian.  I'll  kiss  you.  I'll  tell  you  a 
story.'     She  stretched  out  her  hands.     He  shook  his 


248  CHALLENGE 

head,  laughing,   and  ran  off  in  the  direction  of  the 

village. 

When  he  returned,  she  refused  to  speak  to  him. 

But  at  other  times  they  grew  marvellously  close, 
passing  hours  and  days  in  unbroken  union,  until  the 
very  fact  of  their  two  separate  personalities  became  an 
exasperation.  Then,  silent  as  two  souls  tortured, 
before  a  furnace,  they  struggled  for  the  expression 
that  ever  eludes;  the  complete,  the  satisfying  expression 
that  shall  lay  bare  one  soul  to  another  soul,  but  that, 
ever  failing,  mockingly  preserves  the  unwanted  boon 
of  essential  mystery. 

That  dumb  frenzy  outworn,  they  attained,  never- 
theless, to  a  nearer  comradeship,  the  days,  perhaps, 
of  their  greatest  happiness,  when  with  her  reckless 
fancy  she  charmed  his  mind;  he  thought  of  her  then 
as  a  vagrant  nymph,  straying  from  land  to  land,  from 
age  to  age,  decking  her  spirit  with  any  flower  she  met 
growing  by  the  way,  chastely  concerned  with  the  quest 
of  beauty,  strangely  childlike  always,  pure  as  the 
fiercest,  tallest  flame.  He  could  not  but  bow  to  that 
audacity,  that  elemental  purity,  of  spirit.  Untainted 
by  worldliness,  greed,  or  malice.  .  .  .  The  facts  of 
her  Hfe  became  clearer  to  him,  startling  in  their  con- 
sistency. He  could  not  associate  her  with  possessions, 
or  a  fixed  abode,  she  who  was  free  and  elusive  as  a 
swallow,  to  whom  the  slightest  responsibility  was  an 
intolerable  and  inadmissible  yoke  from  beneath  which, 
without  commotion  but  also  without  compunction, 
she  slipped.  On  no  material  point  could  she  be  touched 
— save  her  own  personal  luxury,  and  that  seemed  to 
grow  with  her,  as  innocent  of  effort  as  the  colour  on  a 
flower;  she  kindled  only  in  response  to  music,  poetry, 
love,  or  laughter,  but  then  with  what  a  kindhng ! 
she  flamed,  she  glowed;  she  ranged  over  spacious  and 
fabulous  realms;    her  feet  never  touched  earth,  they 


APHROS  249 

were  sandal-shod  and  carried  her  in  the  clean  path  of 
breezes,  and  towards  the  sun,  exalted  and  ecstatic, 
breathing  as  the  common  air  the  rarity  of  the  upper 
spaces.  At  such  times  she  seemed  a  creature  blown 
from  legend,  deriving  from  no  parentage;  single, 
individual,  and  lawless. 

He  found  that  he  had  come  gradually  to  regard  her 
with  a  superstitious  reverence. 

He  evolved  a  theory,  constructed  around  her,  dim  and 
nebulous,  yet  persistent;  perforce  nebulous,  since  he 
was  dealing  with  a  matter  too  fine,  too  subtle,  too 
unexplored,  to  lend  itself  to  the  gross  imperfect  imprison- 
ment of  words.  He  never  spoke  of  it,  even  to  her,  but 
staring  at  her  sometimes  with  a  reeling  head  he  felt 
himself  transported,  by  her  medium,  beyond  the 
matter-of-fact  veils  that  shroud  the  hmit  of  human 
vision.  He  felt  illuminated,  on  the  verge  of  a  new 
truth;  as  though  by  stretching  out  his  hand  he  might 
touch  something  no  hand  of  man  had  ever  touched 
before,  something  of  unimaginable  consistency,  neither 
matter  nor  the  negation  of  matter;  as  though  he  might 
brush  the  wings  of  truth,  handle  the  very  substance  of 
a  thought.  .  .  . 

He  felt  at  these  times  hke  a  man  who  passes  through 
a  genuine  psychical  experience.  Yes,  it  was  as  definite 
as  that;  he  had  the  gUmpse  of  a  possible  revelation.  He 
returned  from  his  vision — call  it  what  he  would,  vision 
would  serve  as  well  as  any  other  word — he  returned 
with  that  sense  of  benefit  by  which  alone  such  an 
excursion — or  was  it  incursion? — could  be  justified.  He 
brought  back  a  benefit.  He  had  beheld,  as  in  a  distant 
prospect,  a  novel  balance  and  proportion  of  certain 
values.  That  alone  would  have  left  him  enriched  for 
ever. 

Practical  as  he  could  be,  theories  and  explorations 

C.  R 


250  CHALLENGE 

were  yet  dear  to  him;  he  was  an  inquisitive  adventurer 
of  the  mind  no  less  than  an  active  adventurer  of  the 
world.  He  sought  eagerly  for  underlymg  truths.  His 
apparently  inactive  moods  were  more  accurately  his 
fallow  moods.  His  thought  was  as  an  ardent  plough, 
turning  and  shifting  the  loam  of  his  mind.  Yet  he 
would  not  allow  his  fancy  to  outrun  his  conviction;  if 
fancy  at  any  moment  seemed  to  lead,  he  checked  it  until 
more  lumbering  conviction  could  catch  up.  They  must 
travel  ever  abreast,  whip  and  reins  ahke  in  his  control. 

Youth — were  the  years  of  youth  the  intuitive  years  of 
perception?  Were  the  most  radiant  moments  the 
moments  in  which  one  stepped  farthest  from  the  ordered 
acceptance  of  the  world  ?  Moments  of  danger,  moments 
of  inspiration,  moments  of  self-sacrifice,  moments  of 
perceiving  beauty,  moments  of  love,  all  the  drunken 
moments  !  Eve  moved,  he  knew,  permanently  upon 
that  plane.  She  led  an  exalted,  high-keyed  inner  life. 
The  normal  mood  to  her  was  the  mood  of  a  sensitive 
person  caught  at  the  highest  pitch  of  sensibility.  Was 
she  unsuited  to  the  world  and  to  the  necessities  of  the 
world  because  she  belonged,  not  here,  but  to  another 
sphere  apprehended  by  man  only  in  those  rare,  keen 
moments  that  Julian  called  the  drunken  moments? 
apprehended  by  poet  or  artist — the  elect,  the  aristocracy, 
the  true  path-finders  among  the  race  of  man  ! — in 
moments  when  sobriety  left  them  and  they  passed 
beyond? 

Was  she  to  blame  for  her  cruelty,  her  selfishness,  her 
disregard  for  truth?  was  she,  not  evil,  but  only  aUen? 
to  be  forgiven  aU  for  the  sake  of  the  rarer,  more  distant 
flame  ?  Was  the  standard  of  cardinal  virtues  set  by  the 
world  the  true,  the  ultimate  standard  ?  Was  it  possible 
that  Eve  made  part  of  a  Umited  brotherhood?  was 
indeed  a  citizen  of  some  advanced  state  of  such  perfec- 
tion that  this  world's  measures  and  ideals  were  left 


APHROS  *  251 

behind  and  meaningless?  meaningless  because  un- 
necessary in  such  a  reahn  of  serenity? 

Aphros,  then — the  hberty  of  Aphros — and  Aphros 
meant  to  him  far  more  than  merely  Aphros — that  was 
surely  a  lovely  and  desirable  thing,  a  worthy  aim,  a 
high  beacon?  If  Eve  cared  nothing  for  the  liberty  of 
Aphros,  was  it  because  in  her  world  (he  was  by  now  con- 
vinced of  its  existence)  there  was  no  longer  any  necessity 
to  trouble  over  such  aims,  liberty  being  as  natural  and 
unmeditated  as  the  air  in  the  nostrils? 

(Not  that  this  would  ever  turn  him  from  his  devotion; 
at  most  he  could  look  upon  Aphros  as  a  stage  upon  the 
journey  towards  that  higher  aim — the  stage  to  which 
he  and  his  Uke,  who  were  nearly  of  the  elect,  yet  not  of 
them,  might  aspire.  And  if  the  day  should  ever  come 
when  disillusion  drove  him  down;  when,  far  from 
becoming  a  citizen  of  Eve's  far  sphere,  he  should  cease 
to  be  a  citizen  even  of  Aphros  and  should  become  a 
citizen  merely  of  the  world,  no  longer  young,  no  longer 
blinded  by  ideals,  no  longer  nearly  a  poet,  but  merely  a 
grown,  sober  man — then  he  would  still  keep  Aphros  as 
a  bright  memory  of  what  might  have  been,  of  the  best  he 
had  grasped,  the  possibility  which  in  the  days  of  youth 
had  not  seemed  too  extravagantly  unattainable.) 

But  in  order  to  keep  his  hold  upon  this  world  of  Eve's, 
which  in  his  inner  consciousness  he  already  recognised 
as  the  most  valuable  rift  of  insight  ever  vouchsafed  to 
him,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  revolutionise  every 
ancient  gospel  and  reputable  creed.  The  worth  of  Eve 
was  to  him  an  article  of  faith.  His  intimacy  with  her 
was  a  privilege  infinitely  beyond  the  ordinary  privilege 
of  love.  Whatever  she  might  do,  whatever  crime  she 
might  commit,  whatever  baseness  she  might  perpetrate, 
her  ultimate  worth,  the  core,  the  kernel,  would  remain 
to  him  unsullied  and  inviolate.  This  he  knew  blindly, 
seeing  it  as  the  mystic  sees  God;  and  knew  it  the  more 


252  CHALLENGE 

profoundly  that  he  could  have  defended  it  with  no 
argument  of  reason. 

What  then?  the  poet,  the  creator,  the  womcin,  the 
mystic,  the  man  skirting  the  fringes  of  death — were  they 
kin  with  one  another  and  free  of  some  realm  unknown, 
towards  which  all,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  were 
journeying?  Where  the  extremes  of  passion  (he  did 
not  mean  only  the  passion  of  love),  of  exaltation,  of 
danger,  of  courage  and  vision — where  all  these  extremes 
met — was  it  there,  the  great  crossways  where  the  moral 
ended,  and  the  divine  began  ?  Was  it  for  Eve  supremely, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  for  all  women  and  artists — the 
visionaries,  the  lovely,  the  graceful,  the  irresponsible, 
the  useless  ! — was  it  reserved  for  them  to  show  the 
beginning  of  the  road? 

Youth  !  youth  and  illusion  !  to  love  Eve  and  Aphros ! 
when  those  two  shpped  from  him  he  would  return 
sobered  to  the  path  designated  by  the  sign-posts  and 
milestones  of  man,  hoping  no  more  than  to  keep  as 
a  gleam  within  him  the  light  glowing  in  the  sky  above 
that  unattainable  but  remembered  city. 

He  returned  to  earth;  Eve  was  kneading  and  torment- 
ing a  lump  of  putty,  and  singing  to  herself  meanwhile; 
he  watched  her  delicate,  able  hands,  took  one  of  them, 
and  held  it  up  between  his  eyes  and  the  sun. 

'Your  fingers  are  transparent,  they're  hke  cornelian 
against  the  Mght,'  he  said. 

She  left  her  hand  within  his  grasp,  and  smiled  down 
at  him. 

'How  you  play  with  me,  Julian/  she  said  idly. 

'You're  such  a  delicious  toy.' 

'Only  a  toy?' 

He  remembered  the  intricate,  untranslatable  thoughts 
he  had  been  thinking  about  her  five  minutes  earlier,  and 
began  to  laugh  to  himself. 


APHROS  253 

*A  great  deal  more  than  a  toy.  Once  I  thought  of  you 
only  as  a  child,  a  helpless,  irritating,  adorable  child, 
always  looking  for  trouble,  and  turning  to  me  for  help 
when  the  trouble  came.' 

'And  then?' 

'Then  you  made  me  think  of  you  as  a  woman,'  he 
replied  gravely. 

'You  seemed  to  hesitate  a  good  deal  before  deciding 
to  think  of  me  as  that.' 

'Yes,  I  tried  to  judge  our  position  by  ordinary  codes; 
you  must  have  thought  me  ridiculous.' 

'I  did,  darling.'  Her  mouth  twisted  drolly  as  she 
said  it. 

'I  wonder  now  how  I  could  have  insulted  you  by 
applying  them  to  you,'  he  said  with  real  wonderment; 
everything  seemed  so  clear  and  obvious  to  him  now. 

'  Why,  how  do  you  think  of  me  now  ? ' 

'Oh,  God  knows!'  he  replied.  'I've  called  you 
changeling  sometimes,  haven't  I?'  He  decided  to 
question  her.  'Tell  me.  Eve,  how  do  you  explain  your 
difference?  you  outrage  every  accepted  code,  you  see, 
and  yet  one  retains  one's  belief  in  you.  Is  one  simply 
deluded  by  your  charm?  or  is  there  a  deeper  truth? 
can  you  explain? '  He  had  spoken  in  a  bantering  tone, 
but  he  knew  that  he  was  trying  an  experiment  of  great 
import  to  him. 

'I  don't  think  I'm  different,  Julian;  I  think  I  feel 
things  strongly,  no  more.' 

'Or  else  you  don't  feel  them  at  all.* 

*  What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'Well — PaiiJ,'  he  said  reluctantly. 

'You  have  never  got  over  that,  have  you?' 

'  Exactly  ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  It  seems  to  you  extra- 
ordinary that  I  should  still  remember  Paul,  or  that  his 
death  should  have  made  any  impression  upon  me.  I 
ought  to  hate  you  for  your  indifference.    Sometimes  I 


254  CHALLENGE 

have  come  very  near  to  hating  you.  But  now — perhaps 
my  mind  is  getting  broader — I  blame  you  for  nothing 
because  I  beheve  you  are  simply  not  capable  of  under- 
standing. But  evidently  you  can't  explain  yourself. 
I  love  you  ! '  he  said,  '  I  love  you  ! ' 

He  knew  that  her  own  inability  to  explain  herself — 
her  unself-consciousness — had  done  much  to  strengthen 
his  new  theories.  The  flower  does  not  know  why  or 
how  it  blossoms.  .  .  . 

On  the  day  that  he  told  her,  with  many  misgivings, 
that  Kato  was  coming  to  Aphros,  she  uttered  no  word 
of  anger,  but  wept  despairingly,  at  first  without  speaking, 
then  with  short,  reiterated  sentences  that  wrung  his 
heart  for  all  their  unreason, — 

'We  were  alone.  I  was  happy  as  never  in  my  life. 
I  had  you  utterly.     We  were  alone.     Alone  !     Alone  !  * 

'We  will  tell  Kato  the  truth,'  he  soothed  her;  'she 
will  leave  us  alone  still.' 

But  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  chng  to  straws  of 
comfort.  For  her,  the  sunshine  had  been  unutterably 
radiant;  and  for  her  it  was  now  proportionately 
blackened  out. 

'We  were  alone,'  she  repeated,  shaking  her  head 
with  unspeakable  moumfulness,  the  tears  running 
between  her  fingers. 

For  the  first  time  he  spoke  to  her  with  a  moved,  a 
tender  compassion,  full  of  reverence. 

'Your  joy  .  ,  .  your  sorrow  .  .  .  equally  over- 
whelming and  tempestuous.  How  you  feel — you  tragic 
child  !  Yesterday  you  laughed  and  made  yourself  a 
crown  of  myrtle.' 

She  refused  to  accompany  him  when  he  went  to  meet 
Kato,  who,  after  a  devious  journey  from  Athens,  was  to 
land  at  the  rear  of  the  island  away  from  the  curiosity 
of  Herakleion.     She  remained  in  the  cool  house,  sunk 


APHROS  255 

in  idleness,  her  pen  and  pencil  alike  neglected.  She 
thought  only  of  Julian,  absorbingly,  concentratedly. 
Her  past  life  appeared  to  her,  when  she  thought  of  it 
at  all,  merely  as  a  period  in  which  Juhan  had  not  loved 
her,  a  period  of  waiting,  of  expectancy,  of  anguish 
sometimes,  of  incredible  reticence  supported  only  by 
the  certainty  which  had  been  her  faith  and  her 
inspiration.  .  .  . 

To  her  surprise,  he  returned,  not  only  with  Kato 
but  with  Grbits. 

Every  word  and  gesture  of  the  giant  demonstrated 
his  enormous  pleasure.  His  oddly  Mongohan  face 
wore  a  perpetual  grin  of  triumphant  truancy.  His 
good-humour  was  not  to  be  withstood.  He  wrung 
Eve's  hands,  inarticulate  with  delight.  Kato,  her  head 
covered  with  a  spangled  veil — Juhan  had  never  seen  her 
in  a  hat — stood  by,  looking  on,  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
as  though  Grbits  were  her  exhibit.  Her  little  eyes 
sparkled  with  mischief. 

'He  is  no  longer  an  officer  in  the  Serbian  army,' 
she  said  at  last,  'only  a  free-lance,  at  Julian's  disposal. 
Is  it  not  magnificent?  He  has  sent  in  his  resignation. 
His  career  is  ruined.  The  military  representative  of 
Serbia  in  Herakleion  !' 

'A  free-lance,'  Grbits  repeated,  beaming  down  at 
Julian.  (It  annoyed  Eve  that  he  should  be  so  much 
the  taller  of  the  two). 

'We  sent  you  no  word,  not  to  lessen  your  surprise,' 
said  Kato. 

They  stood,  all  four,  in  the  courtyard  by  the  fountain. 

'I  told  you  on  the  day  of  the  elections  that  when 
you  needed  me  I  should  come,'  Grbits  continued,  his 
grin  widening. 

'Of  course,  you  are  a  supreme  fool,  Grbits,'  said 
Kato  to  him. 

'Yes,'  he  replied,  'thank  Heaven  for  it.' 


256  CHALLENGE 

'In  Athens  the  sjmipathy  is  all  with  the  Islands,' 
said  Kato.  She  had  taken  off  her  veil,  and  they  could 
see  that  she  wore  the  gold  wheat-ears  in  her  hair.  Her 
arms  were,  as  usual,  covered  with  bangles,  nor  had  she 
indeed  made  any  concessions  to  the  necessities  of 
travelling,  save  that  on  her  feet,  instead  of  her  habitual 
square-toed  slippers,  she  wore  long,  hideous,  heelless, 
elastic-sided  boots.  Eve  reflected  that  she  had  grown 
fatter  and  more  stumpy,  but  she  was,  as  ever,  eager, 
kindly,  enthusiastic,  vital;  they  brought  with  them 
a  breath  of  confidence  and  efficiency,  those  dispro- 
portionately assorted  travelling  companions;  JuUan 
felt  a  slight  shame  that  he  had  neglected  the  Islands 
for  Eve;  and  Eve  stood  by,  Hstening  to  their  respective 
recitals,  to  Grbits'  starthng  explosions  of  laughter, 
and  Kato's  exuberant  joy,  tempered  with  wisdom. 
They  both  talked  at  once,  voluble  and  excited;  the 
wheat-ears  trembled  in  Kato's  hair.  Orbits'  white  regular 
teeth  flashed  in  his  broad  face,  and  JuHan,  a  little 
bewildered,  turned  from  one  to  the  other  with  his 
unsmihng  gravity. 

'I  mistrust  the  forbearance  of  Herakleion,'  Kato 
said,  a  great  weight  of  meditated  action  pressing  on 
behind  her  words;  'a  month's  forbearance  !  In  Athens 
innumerable  rumours  were  current :  of  armed  ships 
purchased  from  the  Turks,  even  of  a  gun  mounted  on 
Mylassa — but  that  I  do  not  believe.  They  have  given 
you,  you  say,  a  month  in  which  to  come  to  your  senses. 
But  they  are  giving  themselves  also  a  month  in  which 
to  prepare  their  attack,'  and  she  phed  him  with  practical 
questions  that  demonstrated  her  clear  famiUarity  with 
detail  and  tactic,  while  Grbits  contributed  nothing 
but  the  cavernous  laugh  and  ejaculations  of  his  own 
unquestioning  optimism. 


The  second  attack  on  Aphros  was  delivered  within 
a  week  of  their  arrival. 

Eve  and  Kato,  refusing  the  retreat  in  the  heart 
of  the  island,  spent  the  morning  together  in  the 
Davenant  house.  In  the  distance  the  noise  of  the 
fighting  alternately  increased  and  waned;  now  crackhng 
sharply,  as  it  seemed,  from  all  parts  of  the  sea,  now 
dropping  into  a  disquieting  silence.  At  such  times 
Eve  looked  mutely  at  the  singer.  Kato  gave  her  no 
comfort,  but,  shaking  her  head  and  shrugging  her 
shoulders,  expressed  only  her  ignorance.  She  found 
that  she  could  speak  to  JuUan  sympathetically  of  Eve, 
but  not  to  Eve  sympathetically  of  Juhan.  She  had 
made  the  attempt,  but  after  the  pang  of  its  effort,  had 
renounced  it.  Their  hostility  smouldered  dully  under 
the  shelter  of  their  former  friendship.  Now,  alone  in 
the  house,  they  might  indeed  have  remained  for  the 
most  time  apart  in  separate  rooms,  but  the  common 
anxiety  which  linked  them  drew  them  together,  so 
that  when  Kato  moved  Eve  followed  her,  unwiUingly, 
querulously;  and  expressions  of  affection  were  even 
forced  from  them,  of  which  they  instantly  repented, 
and  by  some  phrase  of  veiled  cruelty  sought  to  counter- 
act. 

No  news  reached  them  from  outside.  Every  man 
was  at  his  post,  and  Julian  had  forbidden  aU  move- 
ment about  the  village.  By  his  orders  also  the  heavy 
shutters  had  been  closed  over  the  windows  of  the 
Davenant  drawing-room,  where  Eve  and  Kato  sat, 
with  the  door  open  on  to  the  courtyard  for  the  sake  of 
light,    talking    spasmodically,    and    listening    to    the 

257 


258  CHALLENGE 

sounds  of  the  firing.  At  the  first  quick  rattle  Kato 
had  said,  'Machine-guns,'  and  Eve  had  repHed,  'Yes; 
the  first  time — when  we  were  here  alone — he  told  me 
they  had  a  machine-gun  on  the  police-launch;'  then 
Kato  said,  after  a  pause  of  firing,  '  This  time  they  have 
more  than  one.' 

Eve  raised  tormented  eyes. 

'Anastasia,  he  said  he  would  be  in  shelter.' 

'Would  he  remain  in  shelter  for  long?'  Kato  replied 
scornfully. 

Eve  said, — 

'He  has  Grbits  with  him/ 

Kato,  crushing  down  the  personal  preoccupation, 
dwelt  ardently  on  the  fate  of  her  country.  She  must 
abandon  to  Eve  the  thought  of  Julian,  but  of  the 
Islands  at  least  she  might  think  possessively,  diverting 
to  their  dear  though  inanimate  claim  all  the  need  of 
passion  and  protection  humanly  denied  her.  From  a 
woman  of  always  intense  patriotism,  she  had  become 
a  fanatic.  Starved  in  one  direction,  she  had  doubled 
her  energy  in  the  other,  realising,  moreover,  the  power  of 
that  bond  between  herself  and  Julian.  She  could  have 
said  with  thorough  truthfulness  that  her  principal 
cause  of  resentment  against  Eve  was  Eve's  indifference 
towards  the  Islands — a  loftier  motive  than  the  more 
human  jealousy.  She  had  noticed  Julian's  reluctance 
to  mention  the  Islands  in  Eve's  presence.  Alone  with 
herself  and  Grbits,  he  had  never  ceased  to  pour  forth 
the  flood  of  his  scheme,  both  practical  and  Utopian, 
so  that  Kato  could  not  be  mistaken  as  to  the  direction 
of  his  true  preoccupations.  She  had  seen  the  vigour  he 
brought  to  his  governing.  She  had  observed  with  a 
delighted  grin  to  Grbits  that,  despite  his  Socialistic 
theories,  JuHan  had  in  point  of  fact  instituted  a  com- 
plete and  very  thinly-veiled  autocracy  in  Hagios 
Zacharie.     She  had  seen  him  in  the  village  assembly. 


APHROS  259 

when,  in  spite  of  his  deferential  appeals  to  the  superior 
experience  of  the  older  men,  he  steered  blankly  past 
any  piece  of  advice  that  ran  contrary  to  the  course 
of  his  own  ideas.  She  knew  that,  ahead  of  him,  when 
he  should  have  freed  himself  finally  of  Herakleion 
(and  that  he  would  free  himself  he  did  not  for  a  moment 
doubt),  he  kept  always  the  dream  of  his  tiny,  ideal 
state.  She  revered  his  faith,  his  energy,  and  his  youth, 
as  the  essence  in  him  most  worthy  of  reverence.  And 
she  knew  that  Eve,  if  she  loved  these  things  in  him, 
loved  them  only  in  theory,  but  in  practice  regarded  them 
with  impatient  indifference.  They  stole  him  away, 
came  between  him  and  her.  .  .  .  Kato  knew  well  Eve's 
own  ideals.  Courage  she  exacted.  Talents  she  esteemed. 
Genius,  freedom,  and  beauty  she  passionately  wor- 
shipped as  her  gods  upon  earth.  But  she  could  tolerate 
nothing  material,  nor  any  occupation  that  removed  her 
or  the  other  from  the  blind  absorption  of  love. 

Kato  sighed.  Far  otherwise  would  she  have  cared 
for  Julian  !  She  caught  sight  of  herself  in  a  mirror, 
thick,  squat,  black,  with  Httle  sparkling  eyes;  she 
glanced  at  Eve,  glowing  with  warmth,  sleek  and  graceful 
as  a  little  animal,  idle  and  seductive.  Outside  a  crash 
of  firing  shook  the  soUd  house,  and  bullets  rattled 
upon  the  roofs  of  the  village. 

It  was  intolerable  to  sit  unoccupied,  working  out 
bitter  speculations,  while  such  activity  raged  around 
the  island.  To  know  the  present  peril  neither  of  JuHan 
nor  of  Aphros !  To  wait  indefinitely,  probably  all 
day,  possibly  all  night ! 

'Anastasia,  sing.' 

Kato  compHed,  as  much  for  her  own  sake  as  for 
Eve's.  She  sang  some  of  her  own  native  songs,  then, 
breaking  off,  she  played,  and  Eve  drew  near  to  her, 
lost  and  transfigured  by  the  music;  she  clasped  and 
unclasped  her  hands,  beautified  by  her  ecstasy,  and 


26o  CHALLENGE 

Kato's  harsh  thoughts  vanished;  Eve  was,  after  all,  a 
child,  an  all  too  loving  and  passionate  child,  and  not, 
as  Kato  sometimes  thought  her,  a  pernicious  force  of 
idleness  and  waste.  Wrong-headed,  tragically  bringing 
sorrow  upon  herself  in  the  train  of  her  too  intense 
emotions.  .  .  .  Continuing  to  play,  Kato  observed  her, 
and  felt  the  hght  eager  fingers  upon  her  arm. 

'Ah,  Kato,  you  make  me  forget.  Like  some  drug 
of  forgetfulness  that  admits  me  to  caves  of  treasure. 
Underground  caves  heaped  with  jewels.  Caves  of  the 
winds;  zephyrs  that  come  and  go.  I'm  carried  away 
into  oblivion.' 

'Tell  me,'  Kato  said. 

Obedient  to  the  lead  of  the  music,  Eve  wandered 
into  a  story, — 

'Riding  on  a  winged  horse,  he  swept  from  east  to 
west;  he  looked  down  upon  the  sea,  crossed  by  the 
wake  of  ships,  splashed  here  and  there  with  islands, 
washing  on  narrow  brown  stretches  of  sand,  or  dashing 
against  the  foot  of  chffs — you  hear  the  waves  breaking? 
— and  he  saw  how  the  moon  drew  the  tides,  and  how 
ships  came  to  rest  for  a  little  while  in  harbours,  but 
were  homeless  and  restless  and  free;  he  passed  over 
the  land,  swooping  low,  and  he  saw  the  straight  streets 
of  cities,  and  the  gleam  of  fires,  the  neat  fields  and 
guarded  frontiers,  the  wider  plains;  he  saw  the  gods 
throned  on  Ida,  wearing  the  clouds  like  mantles  and 
like  crowns,  divinely  strong  or  divinely  beautiful; 
he  saw  things  mean  and  magnificent;  he  saw  the 
triumphal  procession  of  a  conqueror,  with  prisoners 
walking  chained  to  the  back  of  his  chariot,  and  before 
him  white  bulls  with  gilded  horns  driven  to  the 
sacrifice,  and  children  running  with  garlands  of 
flowers;  he  saw  giants  hammering  red  iron  in  northern 
mountains;  he  saw  all  the  wanderers  of  the  earth;  lo 
the  tormented,  and  all  gipsies,  vagabonds,  and  wastrels: 


APHROS  261 

all  jongleurs,  poets,  and  mountebanks;  he  saw  these 
wandering,  but  all  the  staid  and  solemn  people  hved 
in  the  cities  and  counted  the  neat  fields,  saying,  "  This 
shall  be  mine  and  this  shall  be  yours."  And  sometimes, 
as  he  passed  above  a  forest,  he  heard  a  scurry  of  startled 
feet  among  crisp  leaves,  and  sometimes  he  heard, 
which  made  him  sad,  the  cry  of  stricken  trees  beneath 
the  axe,' 

She  broke  off,  as  Kato  ceased  playing. 

'They  are  still  firing,'  she  said. 

'Things  mean  and  magnificent,'  quoted  Kato  slowly. 
'Why,  then,  withhold  JuHan  from  the  Islands?' 

She  had  spoken  inadvertently.  Consciousness  of 
the  present  had  jerked  her  back  from  remembrance 
of  the  past,  when  Eve  had  come  almost  daily  to  her 
flat  in  Herakleion,  bathing  herself  in  the  music, 
wrapped  up  in  beauty;  when  their  friendship  had 
hovered  on  the  boundaries  of  the  emotional,  in  spite 
of — or  perhaps  because  of? — the  thirty  years  that  lay 
between  them. 

'I  heard  the  voice  of  my  fantastic  Eve,  of  whom  I 
once  thought,'  she  added,  fixing  her  eyes  on  Eve,  'as 
the  purest  of  beings,  utterly  removed  from  the  sordid 
and  the  ugly.' 

Eve  suddenly  flung  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her. 

'Ah,  Kato,'  she  said,  'you  throw  me  off  my  guard 
when  you  play  to  me.  I'm  not  always  hard  and  cal- 
culating, and  your  music  melts  me.  It  hurts  me  to  be, 
as  I  constantly  am,  on  the  defensive.  I'm  too  suspicious 
by  nature  to  be  very  happy,  Kato.  There  are  always 
shado\vs,  and  .  .  ,  and  tragedy.  Please  don't  judge 
me  too  harshly.  TeU  me  what  you  mean  by  sordid 
and  ugly — what  is  there  sordid  or  ugly  in  love?' 

Kato  dared  much;    she  replied  in  a  level  voice, — 

'Jealousy.  Waste.  Exorbitance.  Suspicion.  I  am 
sometimes  afraid  of  your  turning  JuUan  into  another 


262  CHALLENGE 

of  those  men  who  hoped  to  fij^  their  inspiration  in  a 
woman,  but  found  only  a  hmd ranee.' 

She  nodded  sagely  at  Eve,  and  the  gold  wheat-ears 
trembled  in  her  hair. 

Eve  darkened  at  Julian's  name;  she  got  up  and 
stood  by  the  door  looking  into  the  court.  Kato  went 
on, — 

'You  are  so  much  of  a  woman.  Eve,  that  it  becomes 
a  responsibiUty.  It  is  a  gift,  like  genius.  And  a  great 
gift  without  a  great  soul  is  a  curse,  because  such  a 
gift  is  too  strong  to  be  disregarded.  It's  a  force,  a 
danger.  You  think  I  am  preaching  to  you' — Eve 
would  never  know  what  the  words  were  costing  her — 
'but  I  preach  only  because  of  my  belief  in  JuHan — and 
in  you,'  she  hastened  to  add,  and  caught  Eve's  hand; 
'don't  frown,  you  child.  Look  at  me;  I  have  no 
illusions  and  no  sensitiveness  on  the  score  of  my  own 
appearance;  look  at  me  hard,  and  let  me  speak  to  you 
as  a  sexle.ss  creature.* 

Eve  was  touched  in  spite  of  her  hostility.  She  was 
also  shocked  and  distressed.  There  was  to  her,  so 
young  herself,  so  insolently  vivid  in  her  sex-pride, 
something  wrong  and  painful  in  Kato's  renouncement 
of  her  right.     She  had  a  sense  of  betrayal. 

'Hush,  Anastasia,'  she  whispered.  They  were  both 
extremely  moved,  and  the  constant  volleys  of  firing 
played  upon  their  nerves  and  stripped  reserve  from 
them. 

'  You  don't  realise,'  said  Kato,  who  had,  upon  impulse, 
sacrificed  her  pride,  and  beaten  down  the  feminine 
weakness  she  branded  as  unworthy,  'how  finely  the 
balance,  in  love,  falters  between  good  and  ill.  You, 
Eve,  are  created  for  love;  any  one  who  saw  you,  even 
without  speaking  to  you,  across  a  room,  could  tell  you 
that.'  She  smiled  affectionately i  she  had,  at  that 
moment,  risen  so  far  above  all  personal  vanity  thai 


APHROS  263 

she  could  bring  herself  to  smile  affectionately  at  Eve. 
'You  said,  just  now,  with  truth  I  am  sure,  that  shadows 
and  tragedy  were  never  very  far  away  from  you;  you're 
too  rare  to  be  philosophical.  I  wish  there  were  a  word 
to  express  the  antithesis  of  a  philosopher;  if  I  could 
call  you  by  it,  I  should  have  said  all  that  I  could  wish 
to  say  about  you.  Eve.  I'm  so  much  afraid  of  sorrow 
for  you  and  JuUan.  ,  .  .' 

'Yes,  yes,'  said  Eve,  forgetting  to  be  resentful,  'I  am 
afraid,  too;  it  overcomes  me  sometimes;  it's  a  presenti- 
ment.' She  looked  really  haunted,  and  Kato  was 
filled  with  an  immense  pity  for  her. 

'You  mustn't  be  weak,'  she  said  gently.  'Presenti- 
ment is  only  a  high-sounding  word  for  a  weak  thought.' 

'You  are  so  strong  and  sane,  Kato;  it  is  easy  for  you 
to  be — strong  and  sane.' 

They  broke  off,  and  listened  in  silence  to  an  outburst 
of  firing  and  shouts  that  rose  from  the  village. 

Grbits  burst  into  the  room  early  in  the  afternoon, 
his  flat  sallow  face  tinged  with  colour,  his  clothes  torn, 
and  his  hmbs  swinging  hke  the  sails  of  a  windmill.  In 
one  enormous  hand  he  still  brandished  a  revolver. 
He  was  triumphantly  out  of  breath. 

'  Driven  off ! '  he  cried.  '  They  ran  up  a  white  flag. 
Not  one  succeeded  in  landing.  Not  one.'  He  panted 
between  every  phrase.  'JuHan — here  in  a  moment. 
I  ran.  Negotiations  now,  we  hope.  Sea  bobbing  with 
dead.' 

'Our  losses?'  said  Kato  sharply. 

'Few.  All  under  cover,'  Grbits  repUed.  He  sat 
dowTi,  swinging  his  revolver  loosely  between  his  knees, 
and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  oily  black  hair,  so  that 
it  separated  into  straight  wisps  across  his  forehead. 
He  was  hugely  pleased  and  good-humoured,  and  grinned 
widely  upon  Eve  and  Kato.     'Good  fighting — though 


264  CHALLENGE 

too  much  at  a  distance.  Julian  was  grazed  on  the 
temple — told  me  to  tell  you,'  he  added,  with  the  tardy 
haste  of  a  child  who  has  forgotten  to  deUver  a  message. 
'We  tied  up  his  head,  and  it  will  be  nothing  of  a  scratch. 
— Driven  off !  They  have  tried  and  failed.  The  defence 
was  excellent.  They  will  scarcely  try  force  again. 
I  am  sorry  I  missed  the  first  fight.  I  could  have  thrown 
those  little  fat  soldiers  into  the  sea  with  one  hand,  two 
at  a  time.' 

Kato  rushed  up  to  Grbits  and  kissed  him;  they  were 
like  children  in  their  large,  clumsy  excitement. 

JuHan  came  in,  his  head  bandaged;  his  unconcern 
deserted  him  as  he  saw  Kato  hanging  over  the  giant's 
chair.     He  laughed  out  loud. 

'  A  miscellaneous  fleet  ! '  he  cried.  '  Coastal  steamers, 
fort  tugs,  old  chirkets  from  the  Bosphorus — who  was 
the  admiral,  I  wonder?' 

' Panaioannou,'  cried  Grbits,  'his  uniform  miHtary 
down  one  side,  and  naval  down  the  other.' 

'Their  white  flag!'  said  Julian. 

'  Sterghiou's  handkerchief  ! '  said  Grbits. 

'Coaling  steamers,  mounting  machine-guns,'  Julian 
continued. 

'Stavridis  must  have  imagined  that,'  said  Kato. 

'  Play  us  a  triumphal  march,  Anastasia  ! '  said  Grbits. 

Kato  crashed  some  chords  on  the  piano;  they  all 
laughed  and  sang,  but  Eve,  who  had  taken  no  part  at 
all,  remained  in  the  window-seat  staring  at  the  ground 
and  her  lips  trembling.  She  heard  Julian's  voice  calling 
her,  but  she  obstinately  shook  her  head.  He  was  lost 
to  her  between  Kato  and  Grbits.  She  heard  them 
eagerly  talking  now,  all  three,  of  the  negotiations  hkely 
to  follow.  She  heard  the  occasional  shout  with  which 
Grbits  recalled  some  incident  in  the  fighting,  and 
JuUan's  response.  She  felt  that  her  ardent  hatred  of 
the  Islands  rose  in  proportion  to  their  ardent  lovs. 


APHROS  26s 

'He  cares  nothing  for  me,'  she  kept  repeating  to  herself, 
'he  cares  for  me  as  a  toy,  a  pastime,  nothing  more; 
he  forgets  me  for  Kato  and  the  Islands.  The  Islands 
hold  his  true  heart.  I  am  the  ornament  to  his  Hfe, 
not  life  itself.  And  he  is  aU  my  life.  He  forgets  me.  .  .  / 
Pride  alone  conquered  her  tears. 

Later,  under  cover  of  a  white  flag,  the  ex-Premier 
Malteios  was  landed  at  the  port  of  Aphros,  and  was 
conducted — since  he  insisted  that  his  visit  was  un- 
official— to  the  Davenant  house. 

Peace  and  silence  reigned.  Grbits  and  Kato  had 
gone  together  to  look  at  the  wreckage,  and  Eve,  having 
watched  their  extraordinary  progress  down  the  street 
unto  they  turned  into  the  market-place,  was  alone  in 
the  drawing-room.  Julian  slept  heavily,  his  arms  flung 
wide,  on  his  bed  upstairs.  Zapantiotis,  who  had  expected 
to  find  him  in  the  court  or  in  the  drawing-room,  paused 
perplexed.     He  spoke  to  Eve  in  a  low  voice. 

'No,'  she  said,  'do  not  wake  Mr  Davenant,'  and, 
raising  her  voice,  she  added,  'His  Excellency  can 
remain  with  me.' 

She  was  alone  in  the  room  with  Malteios,  as  she  had 
desired. 

'But  why  remain  thus,  as  it  were,  at  bay?'  he  said 
pleasantly,  observing  her  attitude,  shrunk  against  the 
wall,  her  hand  pressed  to  her  heart.  You  and  I  were 
friends  once,  mademoiselle.    Madame?'  he  substituted. 

'Mademoiselle,'  she  rephed  levelly. 

'Ah?  Other  rumours,  perhaps — no  matter.  Here 
upon  your  island,  no  doubt,  different  codes  obtain. 
Far  be  it  from  me  to  suggest.  ...  An  agreeable  room,' 
he  said,  looking  round,  linking  his  fingers  behind  his 
back,  and  humming  a  little  tune;  'you  have  a  piano, 
I  see;  have  you  played  much  during  your  leisure? 
But,  of  course,  I  was  forgetting  :  Madame  Kato  is 
c  s 


^^6  CHALLENGE 

your  companion  here,  is  she  not?  and  to  her  skill  a 
piano  is  a  grateful  ornament.  Ah,  I  could  envy  you 
your  evenings,  with  Kato  to  make  your  music.  Paris 
cries  for  her;  but  no,  she  is  upon  a  revolutionary  island 
in  the  heart  of  the  ^Egean  !  Paris  cries  the  more.  Her 
portrait  appears  in  every  paper.  Madame  Kato,  when 
she  emerges,  wiU  find  her  fame  carried  to  its  summit. 
And  you,  MademoiseUe  Eve,  likewise  something  of  a 
heroine.' 

'I  am  here  in  the  place  of  my  cousin,'  Eve  said, 
looking  across  at  the  ex-Premier. 

He  raised  his  eyebrows,  and,  in  a  familiar  gesture, 
smoothed  away  his  beard  from  his  rosy  lips  with  the 
tips  of  his  fingers. 

'Is  that  indeed  so?  A  surprising  race,  you  English. 
Very  surprising.  You  assume  or  bequeath  very  lightly 
the  mantle  of  government,  do  you  not?  Am  I  to 
understand  that  you  have  permanently  replaced  your 
cousin  in  the — ah  ! — presidency  of  Hagios  Zacharie  ? ' 

'My  cousin  is  asleep;  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  speak  to  me  in  his  absence.' 

'Asleep?    but  I  must  see  him,  mademoiselle.' 

'If  you  will  wait  until  he  wakes.' 

'  Hours,  possibly  ! ' 

*We  will  send  to  wake  him  in  an  hour's  time.  Can 
I  not  entertain  you  until  then?'  she  suggested,  her 
natural  coquetry  returning. 

She  left  the  wall  against  which  she  had  been  leaning, 
and,  coming  across  to  Malteios,  gave  him  her  fingers 
with  a  smile.  The  ex-Premier  had  ^Iways  figured 
picturesquely  in  her  world. 

'Mademoiselle,'  he  said,  kissing  the  fingers  she 
gave  him,  'you  are  as  deUghtful  as  ever,  I  am 
assured.' 

They  sat,  Malteios  impatient  and  ill  at  ease,  unwilling 
to  forego  his  urbanity,  yet  tenacious  of  his  purpose. 


APHROS  267 

In    the    midst    of    the    compliments    he    perfunctorily 
proffered,  he  broke  out, — 

'  Children  !  Ces  gosses.  .  .  .  Mais  il  est  fou,  voyons, 
voire  cousin.  What  is  he  thinking  about?  He  has 
created  a  ridiculous  disturbance;  weU,  let  that  pass; 
we  overlook  it,  but  this  persistence.  .  .  .  Where  is  it 
all  to  end?  Obstinacy  feeds  and  grows  fat  upon 
obstinacy;  submission  grows  daily  more  impossible, 
more  remote.  His  pride  is  at  stake.  A  threat,  well 
and  good;  let  him  make  his  threat;  he  might  then 
have  arrived  at  some  compromise.  I,  possibly,  might 
myself  have  acted  as  mediator  between  him  and  my 
friend  and  rival,  Gregori  Stavridis.  In  fact,  I  am  here 
to-day  in  the  hope  that  my  effort  will  not  come  too 
late.  But  after  so  much  fighting  !  Tempers  run  high 
no  doubt  in  the  Islands,  and  I  can  testify  that  they 
run  high  in  Herakleion.  Anastasia — probably  you 
know  this  already — Madame  Kato's  fiat  is  wrecked. 
Yes,  the  mob.  We  are  obUged  to  keep  a  cordon  of 
police  always  before  your  uncle's  house.  Neither  he 
nor  your  father  and  mother  dare  to  show  themselves 
at  the  windows.  It  is  a  truly  terrible  state  of  affairs.' 
He  reverted  to  the  deeper  cause  of  his  resentment, — 
'I  could  have  mediated,  in  the  early  days,  so  well 
between  your  cousin  and  Gregori  Stavridis.  Pity, 
pity,  pity  ! '  he  said,  shaking  his  head  and  smiling  his 
benign,  regretful  smile  that  to-day  was  tinged  with  a 
barely  concealed  bitterness,  'a  thousand  pities, 
mademoiselle.' 

He  began  again,  his  mind  on  Herakleion, — 
'I  have  seen  your  father  and  mother,  also  your 
uncle.  They  are  very  angry  and  impotent.  Because 
the  people  threw  stones  at  their  windows  and  even, 
I  regret  to  say,  fired  shots  into  the  house  from  the 
piatia,  the  windows  are  all  boarded  over  and  they  live 
by  artificial  light.     I  have  seen  them  breakfasting  by 


268  CHALLENGE 

candles.  Yes.  Your  father,  your  mother,  and  your 
uncle,  breakfasting  together  in  the  drawing-room  with 
lighted  candles  on  the  table.  I  entered  the  house  from 
the  back.  Your  father  said  to  me  apprehensively, 
"  I  am  told  Madame  Kato's  flat  was  wrecked  last  night  ?  " 
and  your  mother  said,  "  Outrageous  !  She  is  infatuated, 
either  with  those  Islands  or  with  that  boy.  She  will 
not  care.  All  her  possessions,  littering  the  quays ! 
An  outrage."  Your  uncle  said  to  me,  "  See  the  boy, 
Malteios  I  Talk  to  him.  We  are  hopeless."  Indeed 
they  appeared  hopeless,  although  not  resigned,  and 
sat  with  their  hands  hanging  by  their  sides  instead  of 
eating  their  eggs;  your  mother,  even,  had  lost  her 
determination. 

'I  tried  to  reassure  them,  but  a  rattle  of  stones  on 
the  boarded  windows  interrupted  me.  Your  uncle  got 
up  and  flung  away  his  napkin.  "  One  cannot  breakfast 
in  peace,"  he  said  petulantly,  as  though  that  consti- 
tuted his  most  serious  grievance.  He  went  out  of  the 
room,  but  the  door  had  scarcely  closed  behind  him 
before  it  reopened  and  he  came  back.  He  was  quite 
altered,  very  irritable,  and  all  his  courteous  gravity 
gone  from  him.  "  See  the  inconvenience,"  he  said  to 
me,  jerking  his  hands,  "  all  the  servants  have  gone 
with  my  son,  all  damned  islanders."  I  found  nothing 
to  say.' 

'  Kato  may  return  to  Herakleion  with  you  ? '  Eve 
suggested  after  a  pause  during  which  Malteios  recol- 
lected himself,  and  tried  to  indicate  by  shrugs  and 
rueful  smiles  that  he  considered  the  bewilderment  of 
the  Davenants  a  deplorable  but  nevertheless  entertaining 
joke.     At  the  name  of  Kato  a  change  came  over  his  face. 

'A  fanatic,  that  woman,'  he  replied;  'a  martyr  who 
will  rejoice  in  her  martyrdom.  She  will  never  leave 
Aphros  whUe  the  cause  remains. — A  heroic  woman/ 
he  said,  with  unexpected  reverence. 


APHROS  269 

He  looked  at  Eve,  his  manner  veering  again  to  the 
insinuating  and  the  crafty;  his  worse  and  his  better 
natures  were  perpetually  betra)ang  themselves. 

'  Would  she  leave  Aphros  ?  no  !  Would  your  cousin 
leave  Aphros?  no !  They  have  between  them  the 
bond  of  a  common  cause.  I  know  your  cousin.  He  is 
young  enough  to  be  an  ideahst.  I  know  Madame  Kato. 
She  is  old  enough  to  applaud  skilfully.  Hou  1 '  He 
spread  his  hands.     'I  have  said  enough.' 

Eve  revealed  but  little  interest,  though  for  the  first 
time  during  their  interview  her  interest  was  passionately 
aroused.  Malteios  watched  her,  new  schemes  germina- 
ting in  his  brain;  they  played  against  one  another, 
their  hands  undeclared,  a  bhnd,  tentative  game.  This 
conversation,  which  had  begun  as  it  were  accidentally, 
fortuitously,  turned  to  a  grave  significance  along  a 
road  whose  end  lay  hidden  far  behind  the  hills  of  the 
future.     It  led,  perhaps,  nowhere.     It  led,  perhaps  .  .  . 

Eve  said  lightly, — 

'I  am  outdistanced  by  Kato  and  my  cousin;  I  don't 
understand  politics,   or  those  impersonal  friendships.' 

'Mademoiselle,'  Malteios  rephed,  choosing  his  words 
and  infusing  into  them  an  air  of  confidence,  'I  tell 
you  an  open  secret,  but  one  to  which  I  would  never 
refer  save  with  a  sympathetic  listener  Hke  yourself, 
when  I  teU  you  that  for  many  years  a  friendship  existed 
between  myself  and  Madame  Kato,  poHtical  indeed, 
but  not  impersonal.  Madame  Kato,'  he  said,  drawing 
his  chair  a  httle  nearer  and  lowering  his  voice,  'is  not 
of  the  impersonal  type.' 

Eve  violently  rebelled  from  his  nearness;  fastidious, 
she  loathed  his  goatish  smile,  his  beard,  his  rosy  hps, 
but  she  continued  to  smile  to  him,  a  man  who  held, 
perhaps,  one  of  Julian's  secrets.  She  was  aware  of 
the  necessity  of  obtaining  that  secret.  Of  the  dishonour 
towards  Julian,  sleeping  away  his  hurts  and  his  fatigue 


270  CHALLENGE 

in  the  room  above,  she  was  bhndly  unaware.  Love  to 
her  was  a  battle,  not  a  fellowship.  She  must  know  ! 
Already  her  soul,  eagerly  receptive  and  bared  to  the 
dreaded  blow,  had  adopted  the  theory  of  betrayal. 
In  the  chaos  of  her  resentments  and  suspicions,  she 
remembered  how  Kato  had  spoken  to  her  in  the  morning, 
and  without  further  reflection  branded  that  conversa- 
tion as  a  blind.  She  even  felt  a  passing  admiration 
for  the  other  woman's  superior  cleverness.  She,  Eve, 
had  been  completely  taken  in.  .  .  .  So  she  must 
contend,  not  only  against  the  Islands,  but  against  Kato 
also  ?  Anguish  and  terror  rushed  over  her.  She  scarcely 
knew  what  she  believed  or  did  not  believe,  only  that 
her  mind  was  one  seething  and  surging  tumult  of 
mistrust  and  all-devouring  jealousy.  She  was  on  the 
point  of  abandoning  her  temperamentally  indirect 
methods,  of  stretching  out  her  hands  to  Malteios,  and 
crying  to  him  for  the  agonising,  the  j&ercely  welcome 
truth,  when  he  said, — 

'Impersonal?  Do  you,  mademoiselle,  know  anything 
of  your  sex?  Ah,  charming !  disturbing,  precious, 
indispensable,  even  heroic,  tant  que  vous  voudrez,  but 
impersonal,  no !  Man,  yes,  sometimes.  Woman, 
never.  Never.'  He  took  her  hand,  patted  it,  kissed 
the  wrist,  and  murmured,  'Chere  enfant,  these  are  not 
ideas  for  your  pretty  head.' 

She  knew  from  experience  that  his  preoccupation 
with  such  theories,  if  no  more  sinister  motive,  would 
urge  him  towards  a  resumption  of  the  subject,  and 
after  a  pause  full  of  cogitation  he  continued, — ■ 

'  Follow  my  advice,  mademoiselle  :  never  give  your 
heart  to  a  man  concerned  in  other  affairs.  You  may 
love,  both  of  you,  but  you  will  strive  in  opposite 
directions.  Your  cousin,  for  example.  .  ,  .  And  yet,' 
he  mused,  'you  are  a  woman  to  charm  the  leisure  of  a 
man  of  action.    The  toy  of  a  conqueror.'    He  laughed. 


APHROS  271 

'Fortunately,  conquerors  are  rare.'  But  she  knew  he 
hovered  round  the  image  of  JuUan.  'BeUeve  me, 
leave  such  men  to  such  women  as  Kato;  they  are  more 
truly  kin.  You — I  discover  you — are  too  exorbitant; 
love  would  play  too  absorbing  a  role.  You  would 
tolerate  no  rival,  neither  a  person  nor  a  fact.  Your 
eyes  smoulder;   I  am  near  the  truth?' 

'One  could  steal  the  man  from  his  affairs,'  she  said 
almost  inaudibly. 

'The  only  hope,'  he  replied. 

A  long  silence  fell,  and  his  evil  benevolence  gained 
on  her;  on  her  aroused  sensitiveness  his  unspoken 
suggestions  fell  one  by  one  as  definitely  as  the 
formulated  word.  He  watched  her;  she  trembled, 
half  compelled  by  his  gaze.  At  length,  under  the 
necessity  of  breaking  the  silence,  she  said, — 

'Kato  is  not  such  a  woman;  she  would  resent  no 
obstacle.' 

'Wiser,'  he  added,  'she  would  identify  herself  with 
it.' 

He  began  to  banter  horribly, — 

'Ah,  child.  Eve,  child  made  for  love,  daily  bless 
your  cousinship !  Bless  its  contemptuous  security. 
Smile  over  the  confabulations  of  Kato  and  your  cousin. 
Smile  to  think  that  he,  she,  and  the  Islands  are  bound 
in  an  indissoluble  triology.  If  there  be  jealousy  to 
suffer,  rejoice  in  that  it  falls,  not  to  your  share,  but  to 
mine,  who  am  old  and  sufficiently  philosophical.  Age 
and  experience  harden,  you  know.  Else,  I  could  not 
see  Anastasia  Kato  pass  to  another  with  so  negligible 
a  pang.  Yet  the  imagination  makes  its  own  trouble. 
A  jealous  imagination.  .  .  .  Very  vivid.  Pictures  of 
Anastasia  Kato  in  your  cousin's  arms — ah,  crude, 
crude,  I  know,  but  the  crudity  of  the  jealous  imagina- 
tion is  unequalled.  Not  a  detail  escapes.  That  is  why 
I   say,   bless  your  cousinship   and  its   security.'     He 


272  CHALLENGE 

glanced  up  and  met  her  tortured  eyes.  'As  I  bless  my 
philosophy  of  the  inevitable,'  he  finished  softly, 
caressing  her  hand  which  he  had  retained  all  the 
while. 

No  effort  at  '  Impossible  ! '  escaped  her;  almost  from 
the  first  she  had  bhndly  adopted  his  insinuations. 
She  even  felt  a  perverse  gratitude  towards  him,  and  a 
certain  fellowship.  They  were  allies.  Her  mind  was 
now  set  solely  upon  one  object.  That  self-destruction 
might  be  involved  did  not  occur  to  her,  nor  would  she 
have  been  deterred  thereby.  Like  Samson,  she  had 
her  hands  upon  the  columns.  .  .  . 

'Madame  Kato  hves  in  this  house?'  asked  Malteios, 
as  one  who  has  been  following  a  train  of  thought. 

She  shook  her  head,  and  he  noticed  that  her  eyes 
were  turned  shghtly  inwards,  as  with  the  effort  of  an 
immense  concentration. 

'You  have  power,'  he  said  with  admiration. 

Bending  towards  her,  he  began  to  speak  in  a  very 
low,  rapid  voice;  she  sat  hstening  to  him,  by  no  word 
betraying  her  passionate  attention,  nodding  only  from 
time  to  time,  and  keeping  her  hands  very  still,  Hnked 
in  her  lap.  Only  once  she  spoke,  to  ask  a  question, 
'  He  would  leave  Herakleion  ? '  and  Malteios  rephed, 
'Inevitably;  the  question  of  the  Islands  would  be  for 
ever  closed  for  him';  then  she  said,  producing  the  words 
from  afar  off,  'He  would  be  free,'  and  Malteios,  working 
in  the  dark,  following  only  one  of  the  two  processes  of 
her  thought,  reverted  to  Kato;  his  skill  could  have  been 
greater  in  playing  upon  the  instrument,  but  even  so  it 
sufficed,  so  taut  was  the  stringing  of  the  cords.  When 
he  had  finished  speaking,  she  asked  him  another  question, 
'He  could  never  trace  the  thing  to  me?'  and  he  reas- 
sured her  with  a  laugh  so  natural  and  contemptuous 
that  she,  in  her  ingenuity,  was  convinced.  All  the  while 
she  had  kept  her  eyes  fastened  on  his  face,  on  his  rosy 


APHROS  273 

lips  moving  amongst  his  beard,  that  she  might  lose 
no  detail  of  his  meaning  or  his  instructions,  and  at  one 
moment  he  had  thought,  'There  is  something  terrible 
in  this  child,'  but  immediately  he  had  crushed  the 
qualm,  thinking,  'By  this  recovery,  if  indeed  it  is  to 
be,  I  am  a  made  man,'  and  thanking  the  fate  that  had 
cast  this  unforeseen  chance  across  his  path.  Finally 
she  heard  his  voice  change  from  its  earnest  undertone 
to  its  customary  platitudinous  flattery,  and  turning 
round  she  saw  that  Juhan  had  come  into  the  room,  his 
eyes  already  bent  with  brooding  scorn  upon  the  emissary. 


VI 

She  was  silent  that  evening,  so  silent  that  Grbits, 

the  unobservant,  commented  to  Kato;  but  after  they 
had  dined,  all  four,  by  the  fountain  in  the  court,  she 
flung  aside  her  preoccupation,  laughed  and  sang, 
forced  Kato  to  the  piano,  and  danced  with  reckless 
inspiration  to  the  accompaniment  of  Kato's  songs. 
Juhan,  leaning  against  a  column,  watched  her  bewildering 
gaiety.  She  had  galvanised  Grbits  into  movement — 
he  who  was  usually  bashful  with  women,  especially 
with  Eve,  reserving  his  enthusiasm  for  Julian — and 
as  she  passed  and  re-passed  before  Juhan  in  the  grasp 
of  the  giant  she  flung  at  him  provocative  glances 
charged  with  a  special  meaning  he  could  not  interpret; 
in  the  turn  of  her  dance  he  caught  her  smile  and  the 
flash  of  her  eyes,  and  smiled  in  response,  but  his  smile 
was  grave,  for  his  mind  ran  now  upon  the  crisis  with 
Herakleion,  and,  moreover,  he  suffered  to  see  Eve  so 
held  by  Grbits,  her  turbulent  head  below  the  giant's 
shoulder,  and  regretted  that  her  gaiety  should  not  be 
reserved  for  him  alone.  Across  the  court,  through  the 
open  door  of  the  drawing-room,  he  could  see  Kato  at 
the  piano,  fuU  of  dehght,  her  broad  little  fat  hands  and 
wrists  racing  above  the  keyboard,  her  short  torso 
swaying  to  the  rhythm,  her  rich  voice  humming,  and 
the  gold  wheat  ears  shaking  in  her  hair.  She  called  to 
him,  and,  drawing  a  chair  close  to  the  piano,  he  sat 
beside  her,  but  through  the  door  he  continued  to  stare 
at  Eve  dancing  in  the  court.  Kato  said  as  she  played, 
her  perception  sharpened  by  the  tormented  watch  she 
kept  on  him, — 
*Eve  celebrates  your  victory  of  yesterday,'  to  which 
274 


APHROS  275 

he  replied,  deceived  by  the  kindly  sympathy  in  her 
eyes, — 

'Eve  celebrates  her  own  high  spirits  and  the 
enjoyment  of  a  new  partner;  my  doings  are  of  the 
last  indifference  to  her.' 

Kato  played  louder;    she  bent  towards  him, — 

*  You  love  her  so  much,  Julian  ? ' 

He  made  an  unexpected  answer, — 

*I  beUeve  in  her.' 

Kato,  a  shrewd  woman,  observed  him,  thinking,— 
*He  does  not;   he  wants  to  convince  himself.' 

She  said  aloud,  conscientiously  wrenching  out  the 
truth  as  she  saw  it, — 

'She  loves  you;  she  is  capable  of  love  such  as  is 
granted  to  few;   that  is  the  sublime  in  her.' 

He  seized  upon  this,  hungrily,  missing  meanwhile 
the  sublime  in  the  honesty  of  the  singer, — 

'Since  I  am  given  so  much,  I  should  not  exact  more. 
The  Islands.  .  .  .  She  gives  all  to  me.  I  ought  not  to 
force  the  Islands  upon  her.' 

'Grapes  of  thistles,'  Kato  said  softly. 

'You  understand,'  he  murmured  with  gratitude. 
'But  why  should  she  hamper  me,  Anastasia?  are  all 
women  so  irrational?     What  am  I  to  beheve?' 

'We  are  not  so  irrational  as  we  appear,'  Kato  said, 
'because  our  wildest  sophistry  has  always  its  roots  in 
the  truth  of  instinct.' 

Eve  was  near  them,  crying  out, — 

'  A  tarantella,  Anastasia  ! ' 

JuUan  sprang  up;   he  caught  her  by  the  wrist, — 

'Gipsy!' 

'  Come  with  the  gipsy  ? '  she  whispered. 

Her  scented  hair  blew  near  him,  and  her  face  was 
upturned,  with  its  soft,  sweet  mouth. 

'Away  from  Aphros?'  he  said,  losing  his  head. 

'  All  over  the  world  ! ' 


276  CHALLENGE 

He  was  suddenly  swept  away  by  the  full  force  of 
her  wild,  irresponsible  seduction. 

'Anj^vhere  you  choose,  Eve.' 

She  triumphed,  close  to  him,  and  wanton. 

'You'd  sacrifice  Aphros  to  me?' 

'Anything  you  asked  for,'  he  said  desperately. 

She  laughed,  and  danced  away,  stretching  out  her 
hands  towards  him, — 

'  Join  in  the  saraband,  Julian  ?  * 

She  was  alone  in  her  room.  Her  emotion  and  excite- 
ment were  so  intense  that  they  drained  her  of  physical 
strength,  leaving  her  faint  and  cold;  her  eyes  closed 
now  and  then  as  under  the  pressure  of  pain;  she  yawned, 
and  her  breath  came  shortly  between  her  lips;  she 
sat  by  the  open  window,  rose  to  move  about  the 
room,  sat  again,  rose  again,  passed  her  hand  constantly 
over  her  forehead,  or  pressed  it  against  the  base  of 
her  throat.  The  room  was  in  darkness;  there  was  no 
moon,  only  the  stars  hung  over  the  black  gulf  of  the 
sea.  She  could  see  the  long,  low  lights  of  Herakleion, 
and  the  bright  red  light  of  the  pier.  She  could  hear 
distant  shouting,  and  an  occasional  shot.  In  the  room 
behind  her,  her  bed  was  disordered.  She  wore  only 
her  Spanish  shawl  thrown  over  her  long  nightgown; 
her  hair  hung  in  its  thick  plait.  Sometimes  she  formed, 
in  a  whisper,  the  single  word,  '  Julian  ! ' 

She  thought  of  Julian.  Julian's  rough  head  and 
angry  eyes.  Julian  when  he  said,  'I  shall  break  you,' 
hke  a  man  speaking  to  a  wild  young  supple  tree.  (Her 
laugh  of  derision,  and  her  rejoicing  in  her  secret  fear ! ) 
Juhan  in  his  lazy  ownership  of  her  beauty.  Juhan 
when  he  allowed  her  to  coax  him  from  his  moroseness. 
Juhan  when  she  was  afraid  of  him  and  of  the  storm 
she  had  herself  aroused  :    Juhan  passionate.  .  .  . 

Juhan  whom  she  bhndly  wanted  for  herself  alone. 


APHROS  277 

That  desire  had  risen  to  its  climax.  The  light  of 
no  other  consideration  filtered  through  into  her  closely 
shuttered  heart.  She  had  waited  for  Julian,  schemed 
for  Juhan,  battled  for  Juhai..,  this  was  the  final  battle. 
She  had  not  foreseen  it.  She  had  tolerated  and  even 
welcomed  the  existence  of  the  Islands  until  she  began 
to  realise  that  they  took  part  of  Julian  from  her.  Then 
she  hated  them  insanely,  implacably;  including  Kato, 
whom  Julian  had  called  their  tutelary  deity,  in  that 
hatred.  Had  Juhan  possessed  a  dog,  she  would  have 
hated  that  too. 

The  ambitions  she  had  vaguely  cherished  for  him 
had  not  survived  the  test  of  surrendering  a  portion  of 
her  own  inordinate  claim. 

She  had  joined  battle  with  the  Islands  as  with  a 
mahgnant  personahty.  She  was  fighting  them  for  the 
possession  of  Juhan  as  she  might  have  fought  a  woman 
she  thought  more  beautiful,  more  unscrupulous,  more 
appeahng  than  herself,  but  with  very  httle  doubt  of 
ultimate  victory.  Juhan  would  be  hers,  at  last;  more 
completely  hers  than  he  had  been  even  in  those  ideal, 
uninterrupted  days  before  Grbits  and  Kato  came,  the 
days  when  he  forgot  his  obligations,  almost  his  life's 
dream  for  her.  Love  all-eclipsing.  .  .  .  She  stood 
at  the  window,  oppressed  and  tense,  but  in  the  soft 
silken  swaying  of  her  loose  garments  against  her  limbs 
she  still  found  a  dehcately  luxurious  comfort. 

Juhan  had  been  called  away,  called  by  the  violent 
hammering  on  the  house-door;  it  had  then  been  after 
midnight.  Two  hours  had  passed  since  then.  No  one 
had  come  to  her,  but  she  had  heard  the  tumult  of  many 
voices  in  the  streets,  and  by  leaning  far  out  of  the 
window  she  could  see  a  great  flare  burning  up  from  the 
market-place.  She  had  thought  a  house  might  be  on 
fire.  She  could  not  look  back  over  her  dispositions; 
they  had  been  completed  in  a  dream,  as  though  imder 


278  CHALLENGE 

direct  dictation.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  be  concerned 
as  to  their  possible  miscarriage;  she  was  too  ignorant  of 
such  matters,  too  unpractical,  to  be  troubled  by  any 
such  anxiety.  She  had  carried  out  Malteios'  instructions 
with  intense  concentration;  there  her  part  had  ended. 
The  fuse  which  she  had  fired  was  burning.  ...  If 
Julian  would  return,  to  put  an  end  to  her  impatience  ! 

(Down  in  the  market-place  the  wooden  school- 
buildings  flamed  and  crackled,  redly  lighting  up  the 
night,  and  fountains  of  sparks  flew  upward  against  the 
sky.  The  lurid  market-place  was  thronged  with  suUen 
groups  of  islanders,  under  the  guard  of  the  soldiers  of 
Herakleion.  In  the  centre,  on  the  cobbles,  lay  the  body 
of  Tsigaridis,  on  his  back,  arms  flung  open,  still,  in  the 
enormous  pool  of  blood  that  crept  and  stained  the  edges 
of  his  spread  white  fustanelle.  Many  of  the  islanders 
were  not  fully  dressed,  but  had  run  out  half-naked 
from  their  houses,  only  to  be  captured  and  disarmed 
by  the  troops;  the  weapons  which  had  been  taken 
from  them  lay  heaped  near  the  body  of  Tsigaridis,  the 
light  of  the  flames  gleaming  along  the  blades  of  knives 
and  the  barrels  of  rifles,  and  on  the  bare  bronzed  chests 
of  men,  and  limbs  streaked  with  trickles  of  bright  red 
blood.  They  stood  proudly,  contemptuous  of  their 
wounds,  arms  folded,  some  with  rough  bandages  about 
their  heads.  Panaioannou,  leaning  both  hands  on  the 
hilt  of  his  sword,  and  grinning  sardonically  beneath 
his  fierce  moustaches,  surveyed  the  place  from  the 
steps  of  the  assembly-room). 

Eve  in  her  now  silent  room  realised  that  all  sounds 
of  tumult  had  died  away.  A  shivering  came  over  her, 
and,  impelled  by  a  suddenly  understood  necessity,  she 
lit  the  candles  on  her  dressing-table  and,  as  the  room 
sprang  into  light,  began  flinging  the  clothes  out  of  the 
drawers  into  a  heap  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  They 
fluttered  softly  from  her  hands,  falling  together  in  all 


APHROS  279 

their  diverse  loveliness  of  colour  and  fragility  of  texture. 
She  paused  to  smile  to  them,  friends  and  allies.  She 
remembered  now,  with  the  fidehty  of  a  child  over  a 
well-leamt  lesson,  the  final  words  of  Malteios,  'A  boat 
ready  for  you  both  to-night,  secret  and  without  delay,' 
as  earlier  in  the  evening  she  had  remembered  his  other 
words,  'Midnight,  at  the  creek  at  the  back  of  the 
islands  .  .  .';  she  had  acted  upon  her  lesson  mechani- 
cally, and  in  its  due  sequence,  conscientious,  trustful. 

She  stood  amongst  her  clothes,  the  long  red  sari 
which  she  had  worn  on  the  evening  of  JuHan's  first 
triumph  drooping  from  her  hand.  They  foamed  about 
her  feet  as  she  stood  doubtfully  above  them,  strangely 
brilliant  herself  in  her  Spanish  shawl.  They  lay  in  a 
pool  of  rich  delicacy  upon  the  floor.  They  hung  over 
the  backs  of  chairs,  and  across  the  tumbled  bed.  They 
pleased  her;  she  thought  them  pretty.  Stooping,  she 
raised  them  one  by  one,  and  allowed  them  to  drop 
back  on  to  the  heap,  aware  that  she  must  pack  them 
and  must  also  dress  herself.  But  she  hked  their  butter- 
fly colours  and  gentle  rustle,  and,  remembering  that 
Juhan  Hked  them  too,  smiled  to  them  again.  He  found 
her  standing  there  amongst  them  when  after  a  knock 
at  her  door  he  came  slowly  into  her  room. 

He  remained  by  the  door  for  a  long  while  looking 
at  her  in  silence.  She  had  made  a  sudden,  happy 
movement  towards  him,  but  inexplicably  had  stopped, 
and  with  the  sari  still  in  her  hand  gazed  back  at  him, 
waiting  for  him  to  speak.  He  looked  above  all,  mortally 
tired.  She  discovered  no  anger  in  his  face,  not  even 
sorrow;  only  that  mortal  weariness.  She  was  touched; 
she  to  whom  those  gentler  emotions  were  usually  foreign. 

'Julian?'  she  said,  seized  with  doubt. 

'It  is  all  over,'  he  began,  quite  quietly,  and  he  put 
his  hand  against  his  forehead,  which  was  still  bandaged, 
raising  his  arm  with  the  same  lassitude;    'they  landed 


28o  CHALLENGE 

where  young  Zapantiotis  was  on  guard,  and  he  let  them 
through;  they  were  almost  at  the  village  before  they 
were  discovered.  There  was  very  little  fighting.  They 
have  allowed  me  to  come  here.  They  are  waiting  for 
me  downstairs.     I  am  to  leave.' 

'Yes,'  she  said,  and  looked  down  at  her  heap  of 
clothes. 

He  did  not  speak  again,  and  gradually  she  realised 
the  implication  of  his  words. 

'Zapantiotis.  .  .  .'  she  said. 

'Yes,'  he  said,  raising  his  eyes  again  to  her  face, 
'yes,  you  see,  Zapantiotis  confessed  it  all  to  me  when 
he  saw  me.  He  was  standing  amongst  a  group  of 
prisoners,  in  the  market-place,  but  when  I  came  by 
he  broke  away  from  the  guards  and  screamed  out  to  me 
that  he  had  betrayed  us.  Betrayed  us.  He  said  he 
was  tempted,  bribed.  He  said  he  would  cut  his  own 
throat.    But  I  told  him  not  to  do  that.' 

She  began  to  tremble,  wondering  how  much  he  knew. 
He  added,  in  the  saddest  voice  she  had  ever  heard, — 

'Zapantiotis,  an  islander,   could  not  be  faithful.' 

Then  she  was  terrified;  she  did  not  know  what  was 
coming  next,  what  would  be  the  outcome  of  this  quiet- 
ness. She  wanted  to  go  towards  him,  but  she  could 
only  remain  motionless,  holding  the  sari  up  to  her 
breast  as  a  means  of  protection. 

'At  least,'  he  said,  'old  Zapantiotis  is  dead,  and  will 
never  know  about  his  son.  Where  can  one  look  for 
fidelity?  Tsigaridis  is  dead  too,  and  Grbits.  I  am 
ashamed  of  being  alive.' 

She  noticed  then  that  he  was  disarmed. 

'Why  do  you  stand  over  there,  Julian?'  she  said 
timidly. 

'I  wonder  how  much  you  promised  Zapantiotis?'  he 
said  in  a  speculative  voice;  and  next,  stating  a  fact, 
'You  were,  of  course,  acting  on  Malteios'  suggestion.' 


APHROS 


281 


'  You  know  ? '  she  breathed.  She  was  qiir»«  sure  now 
that  he  was  going  to  kill  her. 

'Zapantiotis  tried  to  tell  me  that  too — in  a  strange 
jumble  of  confessions.  But  they  dragged  him  away 
before  he  could  say  more  than  your  bare  name.  That 
was  enough  for  me.    So  I  know.  Eve.' 

'Is  that  all  you  were  going  to  say?' 

He  raised  his  arms  and  let  them  fall. 

'  What  is  there  to  say  ? ' 

Knowing  him  very  well,  she  saw  that  his  quietness 
was  dropping  from  him;  she  was  aware  of  it  perhaps 
before  he  was  aware  of  it  himself.  His  eyes  were  losing 
their  dead  apathy,  and  were  travelling  round  the  room; 
they  rested  on  the  heap  of  clothes,  on  her  own  drawing 
of  himself  hanging  on  the  wall,  on  the  disordered  bed. 
They  flamed  suddenly,  and  he  made  a  step  towards  her. 

'Why?  why?  why?'  he  cried  out  with  the  utmost 
anguish  and  vehemence,  but  stopped  himself,  and 
stood  with  clenched  fists.  She  shrank  away.  'All 
gone — in  an  hour  ! '  he  said,  and  striding  towards  her 
he  stood  over  her,  shaken  with  a  tempest  of  passion. 
She  shrank  farther  from  him,  retreating  against  the 
wall,  but  first  she  stooped  and  gathered  her  clothes 
around  her  again,  pressing  her  back  against  the  wall 
and  cowering  with  the  clothes  as  a  rampart  round  her 
feet.  But  as  yet  full  realisation  was  denied  her;  she 
knew  that  he  was  angry,  she  thought  indeed  that  he 
might  kill  her,  but  to  other  thoughts  of  finaUty  she  was, 
in  all  innocence,  a  stranger. 

He  spoke  incoherently,  saying,  '  All  gone  !  AU  gone  ! ' 
in  accents  of  blind  pain,  and  once  he  said,  'I  thought 
you  loved  me,'  putting  his  hands  to  his  head  as  though 
walls  were  crumbUng.  He  made  no  further  reproach, 
save  to  repeat,  'I  thought  the  men  were  faithful,  and 
that  you  loved  me,'  and  all  the  while  he  trembled  with 
the  effort  of  his  self-control,  and  his  twitching  hands 
C.  T      ' 


282  CHALLENGE 

reached  out  towards  her  once  or  twice,  but  he  forced 
them  back.  She  thought,  '  How  angry  he  is  !  but  he 
will  forget,  and  I  shall  make  up  to  him  for  what  he  has 
lost.'  So,  between  them,  they  remained  almost  silent, 
breathing  hard,  and  staring  at  one  another. 

'Come,  put  up  your  clothes  quickly,'  he  said  at  last, 
pointing;  'they  want  us  off  the  island,  and  if  we  do 
not  go  of  our  own  accord  they  will  tie  our  hands  and 
feet  and  carry  us  to  the  boat.  Let  us  spare  ourselves 
that  ludicrous  scene.  We  can  marry  in  Athens 
to-morrow.' 

'Marry?'  she  repeated. 

'Naturally.  What  else  did  you  suppose?  That  I 
should  leave  you?  now?  Put  up  your  clothes.  Shall 
I  help  you  ?     Come  ! ' 

'But — marry,  Julian?' 

'Clearly:  marry,'  he  replied  in  a  harsh  voice,  and 
added,  '  Let  us  go.  For  God's  sake,  let  us  go  now  !  I 
feel  stunned,  I  mustn't  begin  to  think.  Let  us  go.' 
He  urged  her  towards  the  door. 

'But  we  had  nothing  to  do  with  marriage,'  she 
whispered. 

He  cried,  so  loudly  and  so  bitterly  that  she  was 
startled, — 

'  No,  we  had  to  do  only  with  love — love  and  rebellion  ! 
And  both  have  failed  me.  Now,  instead  of  love,  we 
must  have  marriage;  and  instead  of  rebellion,  law. 
I  shall  help  on  authority,  instead  of  opposing  it.'  He 
broke  down  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

'You  no  longer  love  me,'  she  said  slowly,  and  her 
eyes  narrowed  and  turned  sHghtly  inwards  in  the  way 
Malteios  had  noticed.     'Then  the  Islands  .  .  .' 

He  pressed  both  hands  against  his  temples  and 
screamed  like  one  possessed,  'But  they  were  all  in  all 
in  all  !  It  isn't  the  thing,  it's  the  soul  behind  the  thing. 
In  robbing  me  of  them  you've  robbed  me  of  more  than 


APHROS  283 

them — ^you've  robbed  me  of  all  the  meaning  that  lay 
behind  them.'  He  retained  just  sufficient  self-pos- 
session to  reaHse  this.  'I  knew  you  were  hostile,  how 
could  I  fail  to  know  it?  but  I  persuaded  myself  that 
you  were  part  of  Aphros,  part  of  all  my  beliefs,  even 
something  beyond  all  my  beliefs.  I  loved  you,  so  you 
and  they  had  to  be  reconciled.  I  reconciled  you  in 
secret.  I  gave  up  mentioning  the  Islands  to  you  because 
it  stabbed  me  to  see  your  indifference.  It  destroyed  the 
illusion  I  was  cherishing.  So  I  built  up  fresh,  separate 
illusions  about  you.  I  have  been  hving  on  illusions, 
now  I  have  nothing  left  but  facts.  I  owe  this  to  you, 
to  you,  to  you  ! ' 

'You  no  longer  love  me,'  she  said  again.  She  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  She  had  not  listened  to  his  bitter 
and  broken  phrases.    'You  no  longer  love  me,  Julian.' 

'I  was  so  determined  that  I  would  be  deceived  by 
no  woman,  and  like  every  one  else  I  have  fallen  into 
the  trap.  Because  you  were  you,  I  ceased  to  be  on  my 
guard.  Oh,  you  never  pretended  to  care  for  Aphros; 
I  grant  you  that  honesty;  but  I  wanted  to  delude  myself 
and  so  I  was  deluded-  I  told  myself  marvellous  tales 
of  your  rarity;  I  thought  you  were  above  even  Aphros. 
I  am  punished  for  my  weakness  in  bringing  you  here. 
Why  hadn't  I  the  strength  to  remain  soUtary?  I 
reproach  myself;  I  had  not  the  right  to  expose  my 
Islands  to  such  a  danger.  But  how  could  I  have  known  ? 
how  could  I  have  known  ? ' 

'Clearly  you  no  longer  love  me,'  she  said  for  the 
third  time. 

'Zapantiotis  sold  his  soul  for  money — was  it  money 
you  promised  him?'  he  went  on.  'So  easily — just  for 
a  httle  money  !  His  soul,  and  aU  of  us,  for  money. 
Money,  father's  god;  he's  a  wise  man,  father,  to  serve 
the  only  remunerative  god.  Was  it  money  you  promised 
Zapantiotis?'  he  shouted  at  her,  seizing  her  by  the 
C.  T2 


284  CHALLENGE 

arm,  *or  was  he,  perhaps,  hke  Paul,  in  love  with  you? 
Did  you  perhaps  promise  him  yourself  ?  How  am  I  to 
know?  There  may  still  be  depths  in  you — you 
woman — that  I  know  nothing  about.  Did  you  give 
yourself  to  Zapantiotis?  Or  is  he  coming  to-night  for 
his  reward?  Did  you  mean  to  ship  me  off  to  Athens, 
you  and  your  accomplices,  while  you  waited  here  in 
this  room — our  room — for  your  lover?' 

'  Juhan  ! '  she  cried — he  had  forced  her  on  to  her 
knees — 'you  are  saying  monstrous  things.' 

'You  drive  me  to  them,'  he  repHed;  'when  I  think 
that  while  the  troops  were  landing  you  lay  in  my  arms, 
here,  knowing  all  the  while  that  you  had  betrayed  me 
— I  could  beheve  anything  of  you.  Monstrous  things  ! 
Do  you  know  what  monstrous  things  I  am  thinking? 
That  you  shall  not  belong  to  Zapantiotis,  but  to  me. 
Yes,  to  me.  You  destroy  love,  but  desire  revives, 
without  love;  horrible,  but  sufficient.  That's  what 
I  am  thinking.  I  dare  say  I  could  kiss  you  still,  and 
forget.     Come  ! ' 

He  was  beside  himself. 

'Your  accusations  are  so  outrageous,'  she  said, 
half -fainting,  'your  suggestions  are  obscene,  Juhan; 
I  would  rather  you  killed  me  at  once.' 

'Then  answer  me  about  Zapantiotis.  How  am  I  to 
know?'  he  repeated,  already  shghtly  ashamed  of  his 
outbmrst,  'I'm  readjusting  my  ideas.  Tell  me  the 
truth;   I  scarcely  care.' 

'Beheve  what  you  choose,'  she  rephed,  although 
he  still  held  her,  terrified,  on  the  ground  at  his  feet, 
'  I  have  more  pride  than  you  credit  me  with — too  much 
to  answer  you.' 

'It  was  money,'  he  said  after  a  pause,  releasing  her. 
She  stood  up;   reaction  overcame  her,  and  she  wept. 

'  Julian,  that  you  should  beheve  that  of  me  !  You 
cut   me   to   the    quick — and    I   gave   myself   to   you 


APHROS  285 

with  such  pride  and  gladness,'  she  added  almost 
inaudibly. 

'Forgive  me;  I  suppose  you,  also,  have  your  own 
moral  code;  I  have  speculated  sufficiently  about  it. 
Heaven  knows,  but  that  means  very  Uttle  to  me  now,' 
he  said,  more  quietly,  and  with  even  a  spark  of  detached 
interest  and  curiosity.  But  he  did  not  pursue  the 
subject.  'What  do  you  want  done  with  your  clothes? 
We  have  wasted  quite  enough  time.' 

'You  want  me  to  come  with  you?* 

'You  sound  incredulous;   why?' 

'I  know  you  have  ceased  to  love  me.  You  spoke  of 
marrying  me.  Your  love  must  have  been  a  poor  flimsy 
thing,  to  topple  over  as  it  has  toppled  !  Mine  is  more 
tenacious,  alas.  It  would  not  depend  on  outside 
happenings.' 

'  How  dare  you  accuse  me  ? '  he  said,  '  You  destroy  and 
take  from  me  all  that  I  care  for'  ('  Yes,'  she  interpolated, 
as  much  bitterness  in  her  voice  as  in  his  own — but  all 
the  time  they  were  talking  against  one  another — 'you 
cared  for  everything  but  me'),  'then  you  brand  my  love 
for  you  as  a  poor  flimsy  thing.  If  you  have  killed  it, 
you  have  done  so  by  taking  away  the  one  thing  .  .  .' 

"That  you  cared  for  more  than  for  me,'  she  completed. 

'With  which  I  would  have  associated  you.  You 
yourself  made  that  association  impossible.  You  hated 
the  things  I  loved.  Now  you've  killed  those  things, 
and  my  love  for  you  with  them.  You've  killed  every- 
thing I  cherished  and  possessed.' 

'Dead?     Irretrievably?'  she  whispered. 

'Dead.' 

He  saw  her  widened  and  swimming  eyes,  and  added, 
too  much  stunned  for  personal  malice,  yet  angry  because 
of  the  pain  he  was  suffering, — 

'You  shall  never  be  jealous  of  me  again.  I  think  I've 
loved  all  women,  loving  you — ^gone  through  the  whole 


286  CHALLENGE 

of  love,  and  now  washed  my  hands  of  it;  I've  tested 
and  plumbed  your  vanity,  your  hideous  egotism' — 
she  was  crying  hke  a  child,  unreservedly,  her  face 
hidden  against  her  arm — '  your  lack  of  breadth  in  every- 
thing that  was  not  love.' 

As  he  spoke,  she  raised  her  face  and  he  saw  light 
breaking  on  her — although  it  was  not,  and  never  would 
be,  precisely  the  Ught  he  desired.  It  was  illumination 
and  horror;  agonised  horror,  incredulous  dismay.  Her 
eyes  were  streaming  with  tears,  but  they  searched  him 
imploringly,  despairingly,  as  in  a  new  voice  she  said, — 

'I've  hurt  you,  Julian  .  .  .  how  I've  hurt  you!  Hurt 
you  !  I  would  have  died  for  you.  Can't  I  put  it  right  ? 
oh,  tell  me  !  WiU  you  kiU  me  ? '  and  she  put  her  hand 
up  to  her  throat,  offering  it.  'Juhan,  I've  hurt  you 
.  .  .  my  own,  my  JuHan.  What  have  I  done?  What 
madness  made  me  do  it?  Oh,  what  is  there  now  for 
me  to  do?  only  tell  me;  I  do  beseech  you  only  to  tell 
me.  Shall  I  go — to  whom? — to  Malteios?  I  under- 
stand nothing;  you  must  tell  me.  I  wanted  you  so 
greedily;  you  must  beUeve  that.  Anything,  anything 
you  want  me  to  do.  ...  It  wasn't  sufficient,  to  love 
you,  to  want  you;  I  gave  you  aU  I  had,  but  it  wasn't 
sufficient.  I  loved  you  wrongly,  I  suppose;  but  I 
loved  you,  I  loved  you  ! ' 

He  had  been  angry,  but  now  he  was  seized  with  a 
strange  pity;  pity  of  her  childish  bewilderment :  the 
thing  that  she  had  perpetrated  was  a  thing  she  could 
not  understand.  She  would  never  fully  understand.  .  .  . 
He  looked  at  her  as  she  stood  crying,  and  remembered 
her  other  aspects,  in  the  flood-time  of  her  joy,  careless, 
radiant,  irresponsible;  they  had  shared  hours  of 
illimitable  happiness. 

'  Eve  !  Eve  !  '  he  cried,  and  through  the  wrenching 
despair  of  his  cry  he  heard  the  funeral  note,  the  tear  of 
cleavage  like  the  downfall  of  a  tree. 


APHROS  287 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  made  her  sit  upon  the 
bed;  she  continued  to  weep,  and  he  sat  beside  her, 
stroking  her  hair.  He  used  terms  of  endearment  towards 
her,  such  as  he  had  never  used  in  the  whole  course  of 
their  passionate  union,  'Eve,  my  httle  Eve';  and  he 
kept  on  repeating,  'my  Uttle  Eve,'  and  pressing  her 
head  against  his  shoulder. 

They  sat  together  Hke  two  children.  Presently  she 
looked  up,  pushing  back  her  hair  with  a  gesture  he 
knew  well. 

'We  both  lose  the  thing  we  cared  most  for  upon 
earth,  Juhan  :   you  lose  the  Islands,  and  I  lose  you.' 

She  stood  up,  and  gazed  out  of  the  window  towards 
Herakleion.  She  stood  there  for  some  time  without 
speaking,  and  a  fatal  clearness  spread  over  her  mind, 
leaving  her  quite  strong,  quite  resolute,  and  coldly 
armoured  against  every  shaft  of  hope. 

'You  want  me  to  marry  you,'  she  said  at  length, 

'  You  must  marry  me  in  Athens  to-morrow,  if  possible^, 
and  as  soon  as  we  are  married  we  can  go  to  England.' 

'I  utterly  refuse,'  she  said,  turning  round  towards 
him. 

He  staled  at  her;  she  looked  frail  and  tired,  and  with 
one  small  white  hand  held  together  the  edges  of  her 
Spanish  shawl.     She  was  no  longer  crying. 

'Do  you  suppose,'  she  went  on,  'that  not  content 
with  having  ruined  the  beginning  of  your  hfe  for  you — 
I  realise  it  now,  you  see — I  shall  ruin  the  rest  of  it  as 
well?  You  may  beHeve  me  or  not,  I  speak  the  truth 
Uke  a  dying  person  when  I  tell  you  I  love  you  to  the 
point  of  sin;  yes,  it's  a  sin  to  love  as  I  love  you.  It's 
blind,  it's  criminal.  It's  my  curse,  the  curse  of  Eve, 
to  love  so  well  that  one  loves  badly.  I  didn't  see.  I 
wanted  you  too  blindly.  Even  now  I  scarcely  under- 
stand how  you  can  have  ceased  to  love  me. — No,  don't 
speak.    I  do  understand  it — in  a  way;   and  yet  I  don't 


288  CHALLENGE 

understand  it.  I  don't  understand  that  an  idea  can  be 
dearer  to  one  than  the  person  one  loves.  ...  I  don't 
understand  responsibilities;  when  you've  talked  about 
responsibilities  I've  sometimes  felt  that  I  was  made  of 
other  elements  than  you.  .  .  .  But  you're  a  man, 
and  I'm  a  woman;  that's  the  rift.  Perhaps  it's  a 
rift  that  can  never  be  bridged.  Never  mind  that. 
Julian,  you  must  find  some  more  civilised  woman  than 
myself;  lind  a  woman  who  will  be  a  friend,  not  an 
enemy.  Love  makes  me  into  an  enemy,  you  see.  Find 
somebody  more  tolerant,  more  unselfish.  More  maternal. 
Yes,  that's  it,'  she  said,  iUuminated,  'more  maternal; 
I'm  only  a  lover,  not  a  mother.  You  told  me  once  that 
I  was  of  the  sort  that  sapped  and  destroyed.  I'll  admit 
that,  and  let  you  go.  You  mustn't  waste  yourself  on 
me.  But,  oh,  JuUan,'  she  said,  coming  close  to  him, 
'if  I  give  you  up — because  in  giving  you  up  I  utterly 
break  myself — ^grant  me  one  justice  :  never  doubt 
that  I  loved  you.  Promise  me,  Julian.  I  shan't  love 
again.  But  don't  doubt  that  I  loved  you;  don't  argue 
to  yourself,  "  She  broke  my  illusions,  therefore  she  never 
loved  me,"  let  me  make  amends  for  what  I  did,  by 
sending  you  away  now  without  me.' 

'I  was  angry;  I  was  l5^ng;  I  wanted  to  hurt  you 
as  you  had  hurt  me,'  he  said  desperately.  'How  can  I 
tell  what  I  have  been  sa5dng  to  you?  I've  been  dazed, 
struck.  .  .  .  It's  untrue  that  I  no  longer  love  you. 
I  love  you,  in  spite,  in  spite  .  .  .  Love  can't  die  in  an 
hour.' 

'Bless  you,'  she  said,  putting  her  hand  for  a  moment 
on  his  head,  'but  you  can't  deceive  me.  Oh,'  she 
hurried  on,  'you  might  deceive  yourself;  you  might 
persuade  yourself  that  you  stLll  loved  me  and  wanted 
me  to  go  with  you;  but  I  know  better.  I'm  not  for  you. 
I'm  not  for  your  happiness,  or  for  any  man's  happiness. 
You've  said  it  yourself  :    I  am  different.     I  let  you  go 


APHROS  289 

because  you  are  strong  and  useful — oh,  yes,  useful  !  so 
disinterested  and  strong,  all  that  I  am  not — too  good 
for  me  to  spoil.  You  have  nothing  in  common  with  me. 
Who  has?  I  think  I  haven't  any  kindred.  I  love  you  ! 
I  love  you  better  than  myself  ! ' 

He  stood  up;  he  stammered  in  his  terror  and 
earnestness,  but  she  only  shook  her  head. 

'No,  JuHan.' 

'You're  too  strong,'  he  cried,  'you  httle  weak  thing; 
stronger  than  I.' 

She  smiled;  he  was  unaware  of  the  very  small  reserve 
of  her  strength. 

'Stronger  than  you,'  she  repeated;   'yes.' 

Again  he  implored  her  to  go  with  him;  he  even 
threatened  her,  but  she  continued  to  shake  her  head  and 
to  say  in  a  faint  and  tortured  voice, — 

'Go  now,  JuUan;    go,  my  darhng;    go  now,  Julian.' 

'With  you,  or  not  at  all.'  He  was  at  last  seriously 
afraid  that  she  meant  what  she  said, 

'Without  me.' 

'Eve,  we  were  so  happy.  Remember!  Only  come; 
we  shall  be  as  happy  again.' 

'You  mustn't  tempt  me;  it's  cruel,'  she  said, 
shivering.     'I'm  human.' 

'  But  I  love  you  ! '  he  said.  He  seized  her  hands, 
and  tried  to  drag  her  towards  the  door. 

'No,'  she  answered,  putting  him  gently  away  from 
her.  'Don't  tempt  me,  JuUan,  don't;  let  me  make 
amends  in  my  own  way.' 

Her  gentleness  and  dignity  were  such  that  he  now 
felt  reproved,  and,  dimly,  that  the  wrong  done  was  by 
him  towards  her,  not  by  her  towards  him. 

'You  are  too  strong — ^magnificent,  and  heartbreaking,' 
he  said  in  despair. 

'As  strong  as  a  rock,'  she  rephed,  looking  straight 
at  him  and  thinking  that  at  any  moment  she  must 


290  CHALLENGE 

fall.  But  still  she  forced  her  lips  to  a  smile  of 
finality. 

'Think  better  of  it,'  he  was  beginning,  when  they 
heard  a  stir  of  commotion  in  the  court  below. 

'  They  are  coming  for  you  ! '  she  cried  out  in  sudden 
panic.     'Go;    I  can't  face  any  one  just  now.  .  .  .' 

He  opened  the  door  on  to  the  landing. 

'  Kato  ! '  he  said,  falling  back.  Eve  heard  the  note 
of  fresh  anguish  in  his  voice. 

Kato  came  in;  even  in  that  hour  of  horror  they  saw 
that  she  had  merely  dragged  a  quilt  round  her  shoulders, 
and  that  her  hair  was  down  her  back.  In  this  guise  her 
appearance  was  indescribably  grotesque. 

'Defeated,  defeated,'  she  said  in  lost  tones  to 
Juhan.  She  did  not  see  that  they  had  both  involuntarily 
recoiled  before  her ;  she  was  beyond  such  consider- 
ations. 

'Anastasia,'  he  said,  taking  her  by  the  arm  and 
shaking  her  sUghtly  to  recall  her  from  her  bemusement, 
'here  is  something  more  urgent — thank  God,  you  will 
be  my  aUy — Eve  must  leave  Aphros  with  me;  tell  her 
so,  tell  her  so;  she  refuses.'  He  shook  her  more  violently 
with  the  emphasis  of  his  words. 

'If  he  wants  you.  .  .  .'  Kato  said,  looking  at  Eve, 
who  had  retreated  into  the  shadows  and  stood  there, 
half  fainting,  supporting  herself  against  the  back  of 
a  chair.  '  If  he  wants  you.  .  .  .'  she  repeated,  in  a  stupid 
voice,  but  her  mind  was  far  away. 

'You  don't  understand,  Anastasia,'  Eve  answered; 
'it  was  I  that  betrayed  him.'  Again  she  thought  she 
must  fall. 

'  She  is  lying  ! '  cried  Julian. 

'No,'  said  Eve.  She  and  Kato  stared  at  one  another, 
so  preposterously  different,  yet  with  currents  of  truth 
rushing  between  them. 

'You!'  Kato  said  at  last,  awaking. 


APHROS  291 

'1  am  sending  him  away,'  said  Eve,  speaking  as 
before  to  the  other  woman. 

'  You  ! '  said  Kato  again.  She  turned  wildly  to  Julian. 
'Why  didn't  you  trust  yourself  to  me,  Juhan,  my 
beloved?'  she  cried;  'I  wouldn't  have  treated  you  so, 
Julian;  why  didn't  you  trust  yourself  to  me?'  She 
pointed  at  Eve,  silent  and  briUiant  in  her  coloured 
shawl;  then,  her  glance  falling  upon  her  own  person, 
so  sordid,  so  unkempt,  she  gave  a  dreadful  cry  and 
looked  arourd  as  though  seeking  for  escape.  The 
other  two  both  turned  their  heads  away ;  to  look  at 
Kato  in  that  moment  was  more  than  they  could 
bear. 

Presently  they  heard  her  speaking  again;  her  self- 
abandonment  had  been  brief;  she  had  mastered  herself, 
and  was  making  it  a  point  of  honour  to  speak  with 
calmness. 

'JuUan,  the  officers  have  orders  that  you  must  leave 
the  island  before  dawn;  if  you  do  not  go  to  them,  they 
will  fetch  you  here.  They  are  waiting  below  in  the 
courtyard  now.  Eve,' — her  face  altered, — '  Eve  is  right : 
if  she  has  indeed  done  as  she  says,  she  cannot  go  with 
you.  She  is  right;  she  is  more  right,  probably,  than  she 
has  ever  been  in  her  Ufe  before  or  ever  will  be  again. 
G)me,  now;    I  will  go  with  you.' 

'Stay  with  Eve,  if  I  go,'  he  said. 

'  Impossible  ! '  repHed  Kato,  instantly  hardening,  and 
casting  upon  Eve  a  look  of  hatred  and  scorn. 

'  How  cruel  you  are,  Anastasia  ! '  said  Juhan,  making 
a  movement  of  pity  towards  Eve. 

'Take  him  away,  Anastasia,'  Eve  murmured,  shrink- 
ing from  him. 

'See,  she  understands  me  better  than  you  do,  and 
understands  herself  better  too,'  said  Kato,  in  a  tone  of 
cruel  triumph;  'if  you  do  not  come,  Juhan,  I  shall  send 
up  the  officers.'    As  she  spoke  she  went  out  of  the  room. 


292  CHALLENGE 

her  quilt  trailing,  and  her  heel-less  slippers  clacking  on 
the  boards. 

'Eve,  for  the  last  time.  .  .  / 

A  cry  \»"as  wrenched  from  her, — 

'  Go  !    if  you  pity  me  ! ' 

'I  shall  come  back.' 

'  Oh,  no,  no  ! '  she  replied,  '  you'll  never  come  back. 
One  doesn't  live  through  such  things  twice.'  She  shook 
her  head  like  a  tortured  animal  that  seeks  to  escape  from 
pain.  He  gave  an  exclamation  of  despair,  and,  after 
one  wild  gesture  towards  her,  which  she  weakly  repudi- 
ated, he  followed  Kato.  Eve  heard  their  steps  upon  the 
stairs,  then  crossing  the  courtyard,  and  the  tramp  of 
soldiers;  the  house-door  crashed  massively.  She  stooped 
very  slowly  and  mechanically,  and  began  to  pick  up  the 
gay  and  fragile  tissue  of  her  clothes. 


VII 

She  laid  them  all  in  orderly  fashion  across  the  bed, 
smoothing  out  the  folds  with  a  care  that  was  strangely 
opposed  to  her  usual  impatience.  Then  she  stood  for 
some  time  drawing  the  thin  silk  of  the  sari  through  her 
fingers  and  Ustening  for  sounds  in  the  house;  there  were 
none.  The  silence  impressed  her  with  the  fact  that  she 
was  alone. 

'Gone  !'  she  thought,  but  she  made  no  movement. 

Her  eyes  narrowed  and  her  mouth  became  contracted 
with  pain. 

'Julian  .  .  .'  she  murmured,  and,  finding  some 
sHppers,  she  thrust  her  bare  feet  into  them  with  sudden 
haste  and  threw  the  comer  of  her  shawl  over  her 
shoulder. 

She  moved  now  with  feverish  speed;  any  one  seeing 
her  face  would  have  exclaimed  that  she  was  not  in 
conscious  possession  of  her  will,  but  would  have  shrunk 
before  the  force  of  her  determination.  She  opened  the 
door  upon  the  dark  staircase  and  went  rapidly  down; 
the  courtyard  was  ht  by  a  torch  the  soldiers  had  left 
stuck  and  flaring  in  a  bracket.  She  had  some  trouble 
with  the  door,  tearing  her  hands  and  breaking  her  nails 
upon  the  great  latch,  but  she  felt  nothing,  dragged  it 
open,  and  foimd  herself  in  the  street.  At  the  end  of  the 
street  she  could  see  the  glare  from  the  burning  buildings 
of  the  market-place,  and  could  hear  the  shout  of  mihtary 
orders. 

She  knew  she  must  take  the  opposite  road;  Malteios 
had  told  her  that.  'Go  by  the  mule-path  over  the  hill; 
it  will  lead  you  straight  to  the  creek  where  the  boat  will 
be  waiting,'  he  had  said.    'The  boat  for  Juhan  and  me/ 

293 


294  CHALLENGE 

she  kept  muttering  to  herself  as  she  speeded  up  the  path 
stumbling  over  the  shallow  steps  and  bruising  her  feet 
upon  the  cobbles.  It  was  very  dark.  Once  or  twice  as 
she  put  out  her  hand  to  save  herself  from  falling  she 
encountered  only  a  prickly  bush  of  aloe  or  gorse,  and 
the  pain  stung  her,  causing  a  momentary  rehef. 

'I  mustn't  hurry  too  much,'  she  said  to  herself, 
'I  mustn't  arrive  at  the  creek  before  they  have  pushed 
off  the  boat.     I  mustn't  call  out  .  .  .' 

She  tried  to  compare  her  pace  with  that  of  Juhan, 
Kato,  and  the  officers,  and  ended  by  sitting  down  for  a 
few  minutes  at  the  highest  point  of  the  path,  where  it 
had  climbed  over  the  shoulder  of  the  island,  and  was 
about  to  curve  down  upon  the  other  side.  From  this 
small  height,  under  the  magnificent  vault  studded  with 
stars,  she  could  hear  the  sigh  of  the  sea  and  feel  the 
slight  breeze  ruffling  her  hair.  '  Without  Julian,  without 
JuHan— no,  never,'  she  said  to  herself,  and  that  one 
thought  revolved  in  her  brain.  '  I  m  alone,'  she  thought, 
'I've  always  been  alone.  ...  I'm  an  outcast,  I  don't 
belong  here.  .  .  .'  She  did  not  really  know  what  she 
meant  by  this,  but  she  repeated  it  with  a  blind  convic- 
tion, and  a  terrible  loneliness  overcame  her.  '  Oh,  stars  ! ' 
she  said  aloud,  putting  up  her  hands  to  them,  and  again 
she  did  not  know  what  she  meant,  either  by  the  words 
or  the  gesture.  Then  she  realised  that  it  was  dark,  and 
standing  up  she  thought,  'I'm  frightened,'  but  there  was 
no  reply  to  the  appeal  for  Julian  that  followed  immedi- 
ately upon  the  thought.  She  clasped  her  shawl  round  her, 
and  tried  to  stare  through  the  night;  then  she  thought 
'  People  on  the  edge  of  death  have  no  need  to  be  frightened,' 
but  for  all  that  she  continued  to  look  fearfully  about  her, 
to  listen  for  sounds,  and  to  wish  that  Julian  would  come 
to  take  care  of  her. 

She  went  down  the  opposite  side  of  the  hill  less  rapidly 
than   she    had    come    up.     She   knew   she   must   not 


APHROS  29i 

overtake  Julian  and  his  escort.  She  did  not  really  know 
why  she  had  chosen  to  follow  them,  when  any  other  part 
of  the  coast  would  have  been  equally  suitable  for  what 
she  had  determined  to  do.  But  she  kept  thinking,  as 
though  it  brought  some  consolation,  'He  passed  along 
this  path  five — ten — minutes  ago;  he  is  there  some- 
where, not  fcir  in  front  of  me.'  And  she  remembered  how 
he  had  begged  her  to  go  with  him.  ' .  .  .  But  I  couldn't 
have  gone  ! '  she  cried,  half  in  apology  to  the  dazzhng 
happiness  she  had  renounced,  '  I  was  a  curse  to  him — to 
everything  I  touch.  I  could  never  have  controlled  my 
jealousy,  my  exorbitance.  .  .  .  He  asked  me  to  go, 
to  be  with  him  always,'  she  thought,  sobbing  and 
hurrying  on;  and  she  sobbed  his  name,  like  a  child, 
'  JuUan  !    Julian  !    Julian  ! ' 

Presently  the  path  ceased  to  lead  downhill  and 
became  flat,  running  along  the  top  of  the  rocky  cliff 
about  twenty  feet  above  the  sea.  She  moved  more 
cautiously,  knowing  that  it  would  bring  her  to  the  little 
creek  where  the  boat  was  to  be  waiting;  as  she  moved 
she  blundered  constantly  against  boulders,  for  the  path 
was  winding  and  in  the  starhght  very  difficult  to  foUow. 
She  was  still  fighting  with  herself,  'No,  I  could  not  go 
with  him;  I  am  not  fit.  .  .  .  I  don't  belong  here.  .  .  .' 
that  reiterated  cry.  'But  without  him — no,  no,  no  1 
This  is  quite  simple.  Will  he  think  me  bad?  I  hope 
not;  I  shall  have  done  what  I  could.  .  .  .'  Her  com- 
plexity had  entirely  deserted  her,  and  she  thought  in 
broad,  childish  lines.  '  Poor  Eve  ! '  she  thought  suddenly, 
viewing  herself  as  a  separate  person,  'she  was  very 
young'  (in  her  eyes  youth  amounted  to  a  moral  virtue), 
*  Julian,  Juhan,  be  a  Httle  sorry  for  her, — I  was  cursed, 
I  was  surely  cursed,'  she  added,  and  at  that  moment 
she  found  herself  just  above  the  creek. 

The  path  descended  to  it  in  rough  steps,  and  with  a 
beating  heart  she  crept  down,  helping  herself  by  her 


296  CHALLENGE 

hands,  until  she  stood  upon  the  sand,  hidden  in  the 
shadow  of  a  boulder.  The  shadows  were  very  black  and 
hunched,  hke  the  shadows  of  great  beasts.  She  hstened, 
the  softness  of  her  limbs  pressed  against  the  harshness 
of  the  rocks.  She  heard  faint  voices,  and,  creeping  for- 
ward, still  keeping  in  the  shadows,  she  made  out  the 
shape  of  a  rowing-boat  filled  with  men  about  twenty 
yards  from  the  shore. 

'  Kato  has  gone  with  him  ! '  was  her  first  idea,  and  at 
that  all  her  jealousy  flamed  again — the  jealousy  that, 
at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  she  knew  was  groundless, 
but  could  not  keep  in  check.  Anger  revived  her — 'Am 
I  to  waste  myself  on  him  ? '  she  thought,  but  immediately 
she  remembered  the  blank  that  that  one  word  '  Never  !  * 
could  conjure  up,  and  her  purpose  became  fixed  again. 
'Not  life  without  him,'  she  thought  firmly  and  un- 
changeably, and  moved  forward  until  her  feet  were 
covered  by  the  thin  waves  lapping  the  sandy  edge  of 
the  creek.  She  had  thrown  off  her  shoes,  standing 
barefoot  on  the  soft  wet  sand. 

Here  she  paused  to  allow  the  boat  to  draw  farther 
away.  She  knew  that  she  would  cry  out,  however  strong 
her  will,  and  she  must  guard  against  all  chance  of  rescue. 
She  waited  at  the  edge  of  the  creek,  shivering,  and 
drawing  her  silk  garments  about  her,  and  forcing  her- 
self to  endure  the  cold  horror  of  the  water  washing  round 
her  ankles.  How  immense  was  the  night,  how  immense 
the  sea  ! — The  oars  in  the  boat  dipped  regularly;  by  now 
it  was  almost  undistinguishable  in  the  darkness. 

'  What  must  I  do  ? '  she  thought  wildly,  knowing  the 
moment  had  come.  '  I  must  run  out  as  far  as  I  can.  .  .  .' 
She  sent  an  unuttered  cry  of  '  Julian  I '  after  the  boat, 
and  plunged  forward;  the  coldness  of  the  water  stopped 
her  as  it  reached  her  waist,  and  the  long  silk  folds  became 
entangled  around  her  hmbs,  but  she  recovered  herself 
and  fought  her  way  forward.     Instinctively  she  kept 


APHROS  297 

her  hands  pressed  against  her  mouth  and  no  trils,  and 
her  staring  eyes  tried  to  fathom  this  cruelly  deliberate 
death.  Then  the  shelving  coast  failed  her  beieath  her 
feet;  she  had  lost  the  shallows  and  was  taken  by  the 
swell  and  rhythm  of  the  deep.  A  thought  flashed  through 
her  brain, '  This  is  where  the  water  ceases  to  be  green  and 
becomes  blue';  then  in  her  terror  she  lost  all  self-control 
and  tried  to  scream;  it  was  incredible  that  Juhan,  who 
was  so  near  at  hand,  should  not  hear  and  come  t*^  save 
her;  she  felt  herself  tiny  and  helpless  in  that  great  surge 
of  water;  even  as  she  tried  to  scream  she  was  carried 
forward  and  imder,  in  spite  of  her  wild  terrified  battle 
against  the  sea,  beneath  the  profound  serenity  of  the 
night  that  witnessed  and  received  her  expiation. 


DATE  DUE 

MAR 

3  1974 

fl  S  ft  i^'   1    ■< 

■i  r\-y  a     f^ 

MAK  1  . 

WA  7 

MAR  21 

1977 

J 

HAY 

2  1977  I 

f 

GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U    S    A. 

up  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  596  752    6 


